Obliquity
by Reveraine
Summary: Fenrir Greyback had never cared about humans; they were as common as the deer and just as scared. He had also never cared how many of them he had bitten; or who they had been before. Once a wolf, always a wolf. When he crosses paths with a young witch that sparks a protective side that he was not aware he had, will he change or will he alter a little girl's life forever?
1. Gales

_A presence stirs the air; a fleeting feeling, or a nervous glance over a shoulder. It is the sense of something creeping up from behind. A sensation familiar to all who have felt the hair stand up on the back of their necks; the very same feeling that stirs a deer to glance up from its peaceful grazing, transported from its everyday dream into the fear of it's worst nightmare._

 _Oftentimes, however, its fear was never more than a passing fancy; a rabbit scurrying through the underbrush, or a curious child begging to reach out to the wild. If were to stand still, frozen in time, perhaps the sensation would pass just as innocently as these. All it takes is calm, patience, and determination, and the thought of danger is easily avoided; but such defenses are fragile. One moment of wavering from such defiance is all it takes; a jump, a sharp turn, but first and foremost, an extreme flight in the opposite direction is most certainly leading it into danger, each wild, frantic step further into the unknown for fear of what the known could become, is one step closer to a stumble, a fall, a death._

 _Summer is a time when such fearful fancies are long banished in the hearts of most. Cold, soggy springs replaced with bright, warm, fresh glades; harsh winter winds banished by the sun. The world is relaxed, even the humans begin to slow their hurried paces to stop and enjoy the warmth._

 _There are many instincts that come naturally to humans; understanding that they are in the presence of a predator is one of them. When a wolf knocks on the door, a human knows not to answer, as easily as the deer knows. The disparity between the two stops there; as no matter how the wolf cries, the deer will never listen, never trust, never falter. Humans, contrary to every instinct, are curious creatures; they cannot help but listen, they must know if they were wrong. They are never content with the simple explanation, they must discover it themselves._

 _In truth, all a wolf needs to gain the world is a silver tongue._

* * *

 **Gales**

* * *

A small village in France felt the tension of a predator prowling its streets. A quietness had settled there, but it was not the silence of a comfortable summer afternoon, as it should have been. There was a tension about the wooded area. It was subtle; likely the inhabitants barely noticed a change in the winds at all. If they were to look closer, perhaps they might listen to the instincts that screamed at them to run, to hide, before whatever was out there finally snatched them up.

Fenrir Greyback attempted not to roll his eyes as another person gave him another worried glance. As amusing as it was to see the humans' obvious discomfort with him, it was ever more humorous to know that they would never truly know _why_ he had that effect on him. No one would know just by looking at the werewolf. He was an imposing figure, it was true, but nothing that truly demanded the distance he was pleasantly receiving in the quaint town. Perhaps these muggles were a superstitious lot; he would never know. His curiosity tended to be limited to his own species, which was why he was in France in the first place.

The werewolf had heard more than a few rumors about the packs in France moving to more wild territories; as the wizards encroached on their territory, it became more and more dangerous to be near the cities. Fewer packs meant more strays. Fenrir was not foolish enough to pick up stragglers who had deserted their own pack; that always spelt trouble, and he had enough of that. Where there were stragglers, however, there were always new wolves. A wolf without a pack would do everything the humans feared, and Fenrir was more than happy to pick up a frightened new cub and continue to grow his pack. The wizarding world may have been at peace for eleven years, but his pack size was still suffering. New wolves were often scared and alone; packless loners never even remembered biting them. In six months, France would become a roaming pack of feral werewolves once a month, and those would start the hunts gain once more. Fenrir felt a growl rumble in his throat at the thought.

Town was the place to look for the new wolves; they would stick to what they knew, many would barely remember changing, it was there neighbors and friends that noticed the sudden shift in behavior. As he walked, he kept his ears just as open as his nose, waiting for the tell-tale signs of a new wolf. He had already located two new cubs so far, and sent them to his pack. The werewolf was not certain he would find any more on his trip; nor was he particularly expecting to. Still, he kept on. Something was driving him to push further, and he could not explain it.

The fact that he did not seem able to bring himself to leave the tiny town was starting to infuriate him. The werewolf had scoured the town six times; there was nothing there! So why couldn't he leave? He growled under his breath, ignoring the startled look from a small girl across the street. He stalked in the opposite direction, not in the mood for dealing with humans. He had walked nearly to the other side of town when he caught a scent. It was not what he had been looking for, it was not a werewolf, but it was different than anything he had smelled before. He followed it; it had been a long time since he met a scent he could not identify. As he followed the new scent, he ended up wandering across the street, and meandering through the small shops nearby. It has come in and out of several, and trailed further on through town. So it was human, or had the appearance of being human, perhaps. The scent was sweet, but it left a slight twinge in his nose he couldn't quite shake; it wasn't unpleasant, but it felt like a warning, and Fenrir was never one to ignore his nose. With slightly more caution, he followed the scent through a door it had not yet returned from.

The werewolf entered the small bookstore, mildly confused by his own nose. He knew whoever was giving off that scent was in the room, but the scent was so jumbled with everything else that he could not immediately tell where it came from. The scent was everywhere; it was as though whoever it belonged to had perused the store's _entire_ inventory. The werewolf turned the corner to where the scent was strongest and was hit in the chest by a small head full of bushy hair.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the scent he had been following, he froze to the spot, able to do nothing but stare at the girl as she muttered profuse apologies in French. She was a _child_ ; no more than twelve. The moment she plowed into him, his werewolf instincts began to scream at him. He had wanted to find her; he had needed to find her, but this new sensation topped any prior feeling he had. It took most of his strength just to stand still, clenching his fist so hard he was certain he was drawing blood. His head was raging; letting her walk away and out the door after paying for her books, very politely, he noted absently.

Mine. Mine. _Mine._ Fenrir had never had such a drive to turn someone as he did in that moment. The happy scent she left in her wake dazed him once more. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn't leave the shop; he had no reason to follow the _child_. Leaving with her still in eyesight would probably drive him to do something rash. He took a deep breath, the girl's scent already beginning to fade from his nostrils. That _girl_ had set off instincts he had never felt so strongly for; first and foremost, the need to protect. He was still sorting through these new feelings when the store clerk laughed at him, mumbling something in French.

Fenrir glanced up, not understanding more than a word or two. Brushing his hair out of his face, the werewolf walked up to the counter. "What?"

"English!" the man said suddenly, then apparently repeated himself. "Don't mind her, sit. She comes in every year. That girl and her parents are regular campers nearby. She's always got her head buried in a book.

Still trying to force down the urge to chase after the girl, he nodded at the man. "I did not realize people did much camping in this part of France," he said blandly.

"It's true, most like to keep to the south, but for those who don't mind the cool weather, this forest is beautiful."

"That it is," Fenrir mumbled without thought, rubbing his itching nose. Who _was_ that girl? Why by Merlin did she set him off? What on earth had possessed him to follow her scent so faithfully? Was it her presence that had kept him here? That was ridiculous. He didn't care for humans any more than they cared for him. There was something else about her, there had to be.

The store clerk was still babbling about the nearby camping spots, and Fenrir was only half-listening, his thoughts completely absorbed by the strange encounter with the girl. Why was he suddenly conflicted about her? He had no qualms biting anyone in the past? Biting her would hurt her, but not for long, he knew that; so why, after dogging her, could he now not follow her further? It hadn't been a problem before, and it wasn't going to start becoming one now. Nodding briefly at the store clerk, Fenrir left the shop.

The werewolf, irritated with his own hesitations and the situation in general, followed the girl's scent until it disappeared at a curbside. He wrinkled his nose, he was not going to find her today. A sense of determination filled him; he once again had a goal. He wracked his brain to think back to what the shop owner had said about the camping nearby. She would be in one of those places; and there were only so many places they could drive to in the forest nearby. Once they were on foot, he would have no trouble catching up. First he just had to find her.

With the full moon mere days away, there was a mild urgency in his steps that he had not felt before. He had to find her before then; he felt it as certainly as he had been unable to leave. If he had reluctance leaving before, there was certainly no going back now.

Fenrir had expected to boost his pack numbers. He had expected things to be simple: routine. He had not anticipated things to become so complicated so quickly or for everything to change so completely. Suddenly, a small bushy-haired girl was becoming his world, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. That summer changed the werewolf's life.

* * *

 **A/N:** Another day, another tale. This one is going to be a bit fluffier than Instincts, as Hermione is still very small. There will be romance, but not until the much later chapters.

Cheers~


	2. Calling

_There is a magic in the world, it is not the magic of spells and witches, nor anything that comes from humans or the other creatures that roam the earth. It is inherent in the land, in the sky, in the water. It is always present, yet never the same. It has tides and currents and turns just as the wind and the waves. Sometimes, a tide once again gains its turn in the forefront of this great magic._

 _The moon's sway is one such persistent force. It comes and it goes, and with it, it brings not only the tide that pulls the waves, but an air of change. When the moon comes to make itself known in the sky, displaying itself as a giant silver augury for all to see, the world changes. A swirling feeling stirs in those whose afferent sensitivity calls them to the pull the moon brings. Senses are heightened, feelings are acted upon in earnest and haste. Even the paltry human senses knew that a change had come. Creatures of all sorts respond to the moon, whether with an awestruck wonder, a firm admiration, or, as some, a gossamer excuse for an ill intent._

 _The deer feel safe in the moonlight; as the bright sphere lights the way for them, allowing all animals to see for miles. It brings a security that, in the long night of the moon, may be a downfall as much as it seemed a haven. As long as an animal feels safe, it becomes complacent; it looks around less and less until a patient wolf finally takes its chance. Knowledge provides safety only as the insight remains true. The moment the unexpected happens, that cold, cruel, sealing of fate and the dread that one should have known better settles in; it takes hold and overwhelms the soul, dragging one further towards the appetites of those who would devour them._

 _The magic of the moon drives such small, kind souls to extreme caution should they choose to heed the prickling nagging in their heads; while their adversaries lurk in the night, waiting for one to slip, to fall into the moon's promise of a calm, cool, bright night and be taken into their world. A darker world, a world that sets free the fear of the night, but likewise, slowly renders uninhabitable the view of day. The call cannot be resisted. Some are fated to remain in the light, and others to remain in the dark._

 _On rare occasions, the line from light to dark is blurred and a soul crosses over from the safety in the light of day to the nebulous, unforgiving dark; not, this time, to be devoured, but to thrive. For these few souls, it only takes a moment of hesitation to send them plummeting into the world of dark; from where there is no escape._

 _They will accept their fate, or the night will extinguish them._

* * *

 **Calling**

* * *

It took Fenrir the whole of two days to catch the scent of the girl again; wandering through the forested campsites was not a particularly effective way to find _anyone_ , let alone a small human girl with her parents. His keen senses served him well, however. This close to the full moon, even the smallest scent was enough. Once he had just a hint of her trail, he hounded after her scent as though the world had fallen away; his mind screaming at him to find her. She was _his_ , even if he did not understand why.

The werewolf knew he had to protect her; the stronger her scent grew, the faster he was spurned on by his own unexplained desire to shield her. He had never been so focused on a single individual in his entire life; never had he been so concerned with the well-being of anyone he had met, let alone a small, human _child_. Perhaps, had his family lived, he may have felt something similar, but it was far too late to tell for them. He wanted to protect this human as part of his pack, she _smelled_ like part of the pack. That was a new one for the werewolf to puzzle through as he made his way through the forest. She was _human_ , there was no way she should smell like she did. He had no explanation for it. In fact, the mystery frustrated the werewolf; perhaps once he found the answer, he could go and leave the child sitting, alive and well, in the human world she belonged in.

The girl's scent was strong now, Fenrir could smell it mingled with others, the humans he assumed were her parents, and many others. He had reached their campground. Glancing around, he knew he could not just barge in, that would likely lead to all kinds of trouble. Picking out the direction the girl had gone, the determined werewolf snuck back into the forest, only slightly more relaxed now that he knew he was close. He made a quiet rounding of the campsite, unable to hear as much as he would have liked to, due to the babbling of a small stream out toward the edge of the campground. No more than two paces across, the shallow water flowed just quickly enough to create a noise that, while assumingly pleasant to human senses, was quite loud to the werewolf as he strained his ears for signs of the girl.

He could smell her everywhere; she was close, he knew it. His head continued to rage at him to find her. She was _his_ ; his to protect, and— His thoughts died as he caught sight of her sitting on the far side of the stream bank. He stood, a great distance away, the urge to go to her overwhelming him. His thoughts had calmed, she was alright. His whole body felt lighter now that he could see her. He took several deep, calming breaths as he crept toward her. Watching her simply read, with not even a clue he was merely yards away was soothing and concerning to him all at once.

Fenrir watched the girl from afar as the day passed, pursing his lips at the conundrum before him. He did not like mystery in his life, especially when his senses drove him toward something so vehemently. _Why_ did this girl affect him so? He felt protective, possessive, yet strangely wary. He felt as though he could not bear the thought of anything happening to this— this _human_. It irked him that such nonsensical feelings coursed through him. To the werewolf's further annoyance, he realized he was so very content just being _near_ her that he had been ignoring his stomach for the better part of the afternoon. He dragged himself off his feet and into the forest to find some unaware animal that he might snatch up. He had been calm when she was within sight; when he could have very easily struck out at anything that should try to interrupt her peaceful reading. He almost wanted something to try. If he saved her, it would give him an excuse to get closer; to figure out why she smelled the way she did. To find out what was so different about her. He grew increasingly irritated the longer he was away from the spot the girl sat; eventually he gave up on the larger game and quickly subdued a squirrel to tide him over. He sated himself on the way back to observing the girl. He wanted to be irritated, but he could not ignore the wave of calm that washed over him when he could see her once more. He felt so calm watching her that he could not bring himself to be angry. Picking some stray squirrel out of his teeth, the werewolf sighed and slowly accepted that whatever this was, he would only figure it out if he allowed himself to feel what his senses were telling him.

After reading for longer than Fenrir thought was possible in one sitting, the girl stood and began to walk back toward her campsite; it was getting dark, and it must have been her dinner time. The werewolf watched her go with a peculiar sense of alarm. He ignored it as it tried to bubble up. A new sensation rose in him as she continued to get further away. If he bit her, these feelings would stop; he would be able to concentrate on other things. He could not explain how he knew it, but he did. This confounded the werewolf further. He had never chosen a member of his pack because they _already_ smelled like part of the pack. Perhaps it was a trick; a trap to ensnare him? No. No one knew where he was, he had been extremely careful. This was no human trick; if anything, it seemed a trick of nature. A trick of fate.

Fenrir had never particularly believed in fate; she was an unreliable, finicky mistress who only ever got those who depended on her into trouble. He growled quietly in his throat; not wanting to believe that everything that had happened over his long life had been _meant_ to happen, all compounding to this one moment, where he would meet this chit of a girl who he was then _supposed_ to bite. It was all too absurd for what little of his mind was separate from his werewolf nature; but the rest of him believed it. He _had_ to bite her; that would solve everything. Perhaps it was time to begin believing in fate once more.

* * *

The next day was much the same for the werewolf. During the night he had hunted something a bit more substantial than the meager squirrel he had managed the day before. He carried the carcass back to his hiding spot across the stream and satisfied his hunger before falling into a restless sleep.

He awoke as the grey twilight broke into dawn; and there she was once more, sitting at the stream, reading what was most certainly a different book than the day before. Her bushy hair obscured her face, as it had the day before. If the werewolf was to accept that _fate_ was the reason he had wasted two days watching a child read, his next question was _why_. Why this girl? Why now? What was so important about her that made even destiny intervene? He sighed, wondering if the girl were feeling anything similar at all. He doubted it. Humans were never as in-tuned with the world's magic as those who depended on it directly. Whether she was a witch or not, he couldn't tell, but it hardly mattered, she was a child, and would not understand the sensations any more than he did. Still, the werewolf did not have an answer; and so he stayed.

He stayed until his blood ran hot, roiling in anticipation of the moon. It was mere hours away, and yet he could not bring himself to leave her. If he stayed, he would bite her, which was what he wanted; but watching her with her book and her innocence and her parents, he had no _reason_ to tear her from that. Fate was a fool's runaround; a poor excuse for turning her life upside-down. Fenrir growled at his own thoughts, since when had that _ever_ stopped him from going after something he wanted? He realized as he looked toward her camp that his urge to protect her encompassed even his own actions. He snorted and turned away; moving away from the humans. As he walked, every step filled him with a strange sense of anxiety. He needed to get away from her, he needed to clear his head. The werewolf began to run, anywhere to get away from her toxic scent; the urge to run straight back growing stronger even as her scent faded into nothing. He snarled at himself and growled at her as he forced himself to run. He could not protect her if she made the wrong move tonight; all logic told him that he should not worry about the girl, he was the only danger in these woods tonight.

She was a _child_ , she was unprotected; she was packless. She was _unclaimed_. The werewolf's thoughts became more convoluted as the moon began to rise. He had to go back to her, to bring her into his pack, to protect her from everyone else. He ran, fighting his thoughts until he collapsed. Then the moon took hold and the change began.

Minutes later, the large grey werewolf shook himself, scratching the back of his scruff with a hind claw. Now that the moon was full and the change was complete, he had one thought on his mind: _her_. He knew what he had to do, he was not going to leave part of his pack alone. He could almost _feel_ her; her presence called to him as surely as the moon. He felt the call and rose to meet it. She was his, and he was hers.

It was dark; trees cast sharp shadows on the ground, something that had never been an impediment to the large werewolf. As it turned out, it had not bothered the girl either. Despite being human and stumbling through low light as he knew she would, there she was, sitting on the bank of the stream, staring up at the bright, full moon. Her parents were once again, nowhere to be seen. She was vulnerable, she was alone, and she stared at the moon with such fervor that the werewolf could not help but look up at the great orb that changed him so. He longed to howl, for he knew she would join in, but she was not yet bitten, she would be afraid.

Curiosity getting the better of him, the werewolf crept toward her, hoping she would spot him amongst the trees. She did.

He watched from the dark as the girl looked down from the moon, startled. She was staring straight at him, her brown eyes shining blue in the moonlight.

The werewolf froze, whining softly at the girl. To his surprise, she looked more concerned than scared. She immediately rose and hopped across the creek, completely unafraid. She was part of the pack.

"Here puppy, are you hurt?" she called quietly. "Come here," her soft voice rang out like a bell in the quiet woods.

Fenrir backed away; some small part of him wanted to turn and run. She wasn't part of the pack yet. There was something off about the way she looked at him. He whined softly at her once more, unable to leave the spell she had him under. The girl turned on a small light to shine into the trees. Fenrir avoided it, afraid she would run if she saw him. If she ran, he would chase her, there was nothing he could do, or would do, to stop himself. The small light was bright and powerful, it hurt his eyes.

The girl continued to follow him into the forest, calling softly to him. Her voice was so gentle, he wanted to run up to her when she called.

The two walked until Fenrir could no longer bear the distance between them. He could not stand being so far from his pack. He stopped and turned to face her, taking in her glorious scent. _Mine_. He growled possessively at the air, but quieted when the girl hesitated. He could smell her sudden fear. Suddenly trembling, the girl lifted her light to reveal the werewolf's form. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and she let out a quiet breath of surprise. Fenrir watched as she began to back away slowly.

His eyes trained on her, he followed. He could hear her mumbling to herself, but could not entirely comprehend the words, all his focus was on her posture, not what human words she spoke. She was afraid, but he couldn't let her go. He could sense her fear rising as he kept pace with her. Suddenly, she panicked and began to pick up speed, quickly darting into a run. Fenrir did not think before he darted after her. She was running from _him_. She _shouldn't_ ; she was _his_. He couldn't let her get away; he wasn't going to let her go. She was part of the pack.

The girl tripped over a tree root, screaming as she stumbled to the ground. The werewolf lunged for her without missing a step; he small body cowering beneath him.

 _Mine._

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello to all my new followers! I really hope you like what I have in store for this story. It's going to be quite different than Instincts, though, I hope, just as good. I will try to update every two weeks or so until the end of April, when my summer begins and I have more time to devote to making my scrawling rough drafts more presentable.

Cheers~


	3. Changes

_There comes a time for every being to make a choice. Sometimes is is easy; sometimes it is insurmountable. For most, it is somewhere in-between. As one decision is made, more follow until there is no going back. The consequences of any seemingly small decision can last a lifetime. It is not always easy to see which moments are the most critical; which new fork in the path will send one further down a long path, or careen one into a new direction. Some choices, so innocuous at first glance, house a world of trouble for those under its spell._

 _So much is decided without the presence of a conscious thought; souls do or say or act without truly examining what is in front of them. There is always a choice, whether it is perceived or not. No matter whether the mind is present or not, a soul must endure the consequences of a decision once made._

 _Trust has much to do with choice. There are instincts and gut feelings balanced with the knowledge and truth of what one has done; but there are times when one supersedes the other. No matter what logic may say, instinct is not a force to be ignored. It will lead a soul down a path blindly, but often more assuredly than the path of enlightened logic. Perhaps, someday, the fruit of such a trust will make itself clear, but that is all fulfilled in time. There are times to cry for aid, and times to silently endure; it is difficult to ascertain which is the most prudent at any moment in time, but for a child, the answer is simple. A child needs help, and they will find it wherever they can, no matter the danger it may lead them into._

* * *

 **Changes**

* * *

Fenrir rubbed at his temples as he awoke, blinking into the grey dawn. He shook his head, attempting to clear the fog in his mind that was so reminiscent of the mist in the chilled forest. He could not recall the events of the night before; which was an odd sensation for him. It troubled him, it had been years since he'd woken up from a full moon completely in the dark. Scratching a sudden itch that had set in his chin, the werewolf paused once more as he flicked blood off the aforementioned area of his face.

The werewolf frowned heavily; he _never_ forgot biting someone. He was also hungry enough to know he hadn't eaten anything over the night. He remembered running, and then the change came, and there was nothing after that, just a frustrating wall of nothing. He looked around, blue eyes scanning the forest carefully, wracking his brain to bring up the memories from the night before. He continued to rub his chin as he surveyed the area. He managed to find the clothes he had dropped when he shifted and was halfway through redressing when he finally spotted something out of the ordinary.

A strange pattern in the foliage caught his eye. He took a few steps and froze, his gaze falling onto the same head of curls he had been trailing the past few days. Time seemed to stop as he immediately strained his ears, to pick up some sign that she was still alive. Her form was limp and bloodied; the thought that he might have killed her tore a hole straight through the werewolf's chest. Unable to hear for the blood rushing in his ears, Fenrir rushed to the girl's side, dropping to his knees to pull her into his arms. As soon as he could smell her, his anxiety began to disappear. She was breathing, and she did not smell any worse for wear.

The werewolf winced at the mark in the girl's shoulder. She was part of the pack now; there was no going back. Fenrir had not killed anyone by accident since he was a young wolf, still trying to control the shifting of his mind and body, but neither had he truly lost control once he had regained it. It startled the werewolf to know that whatever set him off about this girl was enough to make him forget decades of practice.

"I'm sorry," he growled quietly, holding the girl to his chest, praying she would not wake to see him in such a spot of weakness. He had bitten her, and her life would never be the same. The curly-haired girl in his arms was so very small, not even a teenager. He felt the urge to take her back to the pack, to take her home with him, but he had already taken one choice from her today. The other could wait. She would come to the pack eventually, but until then, he was going to watch out for her.

Thinking quickly, the werewolf pulled his shirt over his head, scrubbed the blood from his face and picked the girl up. He turned with her in his arms and ran back toward her parents' campsite. He had his family ripped from him once, he was not going to let the same thing happen to her. The girl stirred as he ran, slowly coming back to consciousness. She jumped, frightened, at his unfamiliar face when she was finally awake.

"Who are you?" she demanded through tears, her voice shaking.

"My name—" he hesitated, he had no idea whether this girl would have heard of him or not. He wanted her to trust him. He needed her to trust him. "Call me Fen," he said quietly.

"Where am I?" The girl was still fighting back her tears. She winced and cried out at a particularly hard step Fenrir took as he continued to run. "It hurts."

She tried to glance over at her shoulder, but he knew she couldn't see anything. She was confused and distressed. Her wound had mostly healed through the night, as it should have, but it was still angry and red. If he had taken a moment to think before jumping into action, he would have mixed more of his saliva into the bite to soothe the pain and help it heal, but he had been too frantic. It was too late now, she was going to have to let the rest heal naturally. It would be quick, but not immediate. A couple of days, at least. The girl was unconscious again when he glanced down at her. Good, it would be less painful for her that way.

The forest seemed endless, and yet the girl's parents came into view too soon. The werewolf knew he couldn't remain silent, he called out, hoping no one would answer; a vain hope, as selfish as it could be. As soon as he opened his mouth, a man he assumed to be the girl's father came rushing out of the campsite.

"Oh my god! You've found her!" The man did not slow until the last second, grabbing the girl from Fenrir's arms, nearly eliciting a growl from the werewolf, who only just stopped himself. "She's injured...why that's—"

The girl began to stir once more at the sound of a familiar voice.

The man's gaze moved immediately from the wound in her shoulder to her face as she awoke.

"Hermione!"

"Daddy!" The girl threw herself into her father's arms, crying. She gasped in pain a moment later, dropping her injured arm.

Fenrir had nearly taken a step toward her at her cry of pain. She was his to protect, despite the fact that he _knew_ it shouldn't be. Her father was doing fine...there was nothing either of them could do anyway. It didn't matter what he _knew_ , he wanted to act. Standing there watching her was more than a bit difficult, but he managed. He stood, momentarily forgotten, as the girl cried to her father about the night.

* * *

Hermione bit back another cry of pain as she unthinkingly jostled her arm again. Her shoulder was burning. She vaguely recalled the pain from earlier and knew that it was not as bad as it had been, but it still hurt. She tried to remember why it hurt. Why had she been in the forest? What had happened to her? She remembered staring up at the moon by the creek, and then…

 _The dog_. She shook her head. It hadn't been a dog. It was a wolf. It had dragged her into the forest. She had screamed and kicked and...she didn't want to think about it any more and began to cry at the memories.

"Hermione, please, tell me what happened!"

The girl suddenly registered her father pleading with her. He was crying too. She remembered the stranger who had saved her. He brought her back to her parents. She stared over her father's shoulder to meet the strange man's eye, still not entirely aware of her surroundings. She didn't know him, but she remembered not being afraid of him. It took her a moment to realize the man was staring at her with worry. She once again heard what sounded like her father's voice, distant and vague. Unable to tear her eyes from the stranger, she breathed out the answer to a question she barely heard.

"It was a wolf," she said. The sound of her own voice bringing her back to some semblance of reality. Wolves? There _were_ no wolves in this part of France. "I know— there _aren't_ any wolves in France, Daddy, but I—" she began to cry once more, and realized that she was shaking.

"Hermione, if you say it's a wolf, I believe you."

Hermione concentrated on the sound of her father's voice, letting it soothe her. She was safe.

She winced as her father's gentle hand touched her shoulder to move her shirt out of the way to take a look at her shoulder.

"It's not infected, is it, Dad?" Infected wounds needed to be addressed immediately and Hermione hated the idea of being stuck in a hospital for the rest of her vacation.

"No," her father sounded almost in awe, "No, it's not. Hermione, this wound is nearly healed. Are you sure you didn't…" He glanced up warily at the stranger.

Hermione didn't even have her wand with her, the only way magic could have healed it was if the stranger had used it. She shook her head, "I didn't, Dad. I promise. I don't know why it's not so bad." Now that she was starting to calm, she began to notice that her shoulder did not hurt as much as it should have. She should have had bumps and scrapes and bruises from being thrashed around on the forest floor, but she didn't feel those either. "How?" she said quietly, wondering to herself more than anyone else.

It was then that the stranger stepped back into her view. He knelt down next to her father. "I think I can explain that," he said quietly.

Hermione hardly heard her father's questions as she stared at the other man. His bright blue eyes were so much like the moon, she could not look away. It was almost unnerving.

"You were bitten by a werewolf," he stated firmly.

Hermione frowned immediately, hardly hearing her father's protests. There was certainty in the man's face. He had been there...he _knew_ what happened. There was a hint of pity on the man's face; just enough to tell her that what he said was true.

Still, she did not want to believe him. "How do you know?" she whispered.

The man, still ignoring her father, fiddled slightly with his clothing to pull up his shirt, revealing a pattern on his skin nearly identical to the one on her shoulder. His bite was scarred over, it looked decades old, but it was unmistakably the same.

"You're a werewolf," she said, suddenly suspicious. He could've been the one to bite her, she would never know. Perhaps neither would he...She knew nothing about werewolves, only that they existed. Something in her told her to trust him; she had a strange sensation that he wouldn't hurt her, despite having no factual basis for such a claim. What reason did he have to lie? Perhaps...even if he was lying, he seemed to want to help her. That was the best thing he could do if he _had_ bitten her, right? Her gut told her to trust him, so she did.

The man's lips quirked up into a slight grin as he replied to her question. "Yes; and now, little one, so are you."

"How do I know _you_ weren't the one who did this to her?" Charles Granger demanded, bringing Hermione's attention away from the werewolf in front of her.

She watched as Fen's eyes drifted slowly, almost lazily to the other man. "You don't. I can only give you my word that the wolf that bit her will not hurt her again. It has been taken care of." he smiled slightly, "One day I'll do the same to the one that bit me, but until then, I do what I can."

Hermione knew the man was hiding something, but it may have been what she thought, or something completely different and possibly personal. She trusted him; she had truly trusted him since the moment she awoke with him running with her in his arms. She had not been afraid of him; she had felt safe and protected. She still did.

Once again caught up in her own thoughts, it took her a moment to realize that her father was once again arguing with the werewolf. Hermione could only sit and watch, dazed at the new information. Being a witch was one thing; but a werewolf? She only knew the vaguest information about werewolves, most of her books hardly mentioned them. The man in front of her, who was currently making a bemused face at her angry father, could help her, couldn't he? She hoped he would.

"What do I do?" she asked quietly, drawing the attention of both the adults once more.

Fen looked relieved to be drawn away from the other man. Pity flashed in his eyes once more, "It's not easy, little one, but with some help, it will be bearable. With time, it won't even feel strange. It's a part of you now." The werewolf glared sternly at Charles, "Even if I leave, she will not be the same. It's better to have a guide than to learn the hard way: alone."

Hermione knew the look on her father's face well. He was not accustomed to losing, and was about ready to begin arguing with the werewolf once more. "Please don't leave," Hermione managed, the thought of going at something so daunting alone completely overwhelming.

The werewolf nodded, "I won't."

The tension was interrupted by a screeching of tires. Hermione turned to see her mother dart out of the hastily parked car. Jean ran up to her, pulling her into a crushing hug, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Hermione cried out quietly as her mother squeezed her. Her shoulder still hurt.

Jean immediately loosened her grip, "I'm so sorry, darling! What happened?"

Hermione's lip trembled and she looked toward Fen, not wanting to open her mouth to explain everything that was now flooding into her head. He nodded to her as though with approval, as though he had expected her to look to him.

Overcome with relief and still hurting slightly, Hermione let herself cry in her mother's arms, completely missing the look of guilt on Fen's face as her mother thanked him.

* * *

 **A/N:** I shall warn you now. Fluff abounds.

~Cheers


	4. Bonding

_The magic that the moon gives does not leave with the heavenly body itself. It lingers, affecting those who are closely entwined with its spell. It binds those souls closer together. Where there is such a bond, there is trust. It is neither earned nor warranted, but yet, it remains. An unwritten pact between beings who may not be aware of what they are doing._

 _A wolf needs a pack; and moreover, a wolf cub without a pack will die. They need both guidance and protection from their own kind. A cub does not even think not to trust its own pack; it needs it, and it loves it. It is pure and simple. Such a love must be protected and nurtured, just as the cub itself. Hunting, tracking, hiding; all are necessary skills that must be taught to keep a cub alive into adulthood. Above all, the closer to civilization, hiding is of the utmost importance._

 _Men and wolves have been at odds for too long. Men fear wolves, and wolves have learned to fear men in return. Fearful men kill. So wolves run, and hide, every second feeling their pride slip away. No longer able to stand tall and hunt, they scuttle in the dark, hoping to not be noticed for fear of a rash action that can never be taken back. If docile enough, and willing to swallow any scrap of remaining pride, a wolf might live among the men, but it will not benefit either in time. The wolf must run and play and hunt. The man will one day realize his mistake, and once again, strike out in fear and anger._

 _Play is as important to a pack as the hunt. Bonds form through squeals of delight and surprise, as one soul greets another. Running, hunting, catching, repeating until they are too tired to continue; play is life. It is impossible to ignore, to sit out as others engage in such behavior. Learning to play lasts a lifetime; and bonds are forever._

* * *

 **Bonding**

* * *

Fenrir sat quietly near the stream; knowing Hermione was relaying everything that had happened once more to her mother. He could hear her telling the story, trying to ignore her quiet sobs at some of the memories. He was glad she could not remember any more than she had. He still had not completely gotten his memory back from the night before. It was all very blurry, and bloody.

The werewolf shook his head; he was amazed at how well-adjusted the girl was already. She hadn't fought, she hadn't irrationally ordered him to fix it. She had accepted his words the moment they were out of his mouth. She was handling what had happened better than _he_ had, and Fenrir had some help.

After some time, the little witch came up to him with two plates of food.

"Thank you for saving me," she said softly, handing the larger of the two servings to him.

Fenrir bottled down the ping of guilt when she looked at him with such innocent eyes. He did this to her, and he was letting her thank him for it. He tried not to growl at himself, only barely succeeding.

"Anytime, pup," he responded with a wry grin, truly meaning it. He would protect her from anything.

"Can you really help me?" she inquired quietly while they ate. "Mum and Dad are arguing about it."

Fenrir nodded, holding back a snort of irony. She trusted him so much already; he was starting to feel the bond with her as it tied her to him; to the pack. "I can. Better than anyone who isn't one of us." He frowned slightly, not wanting to tell her everything that he needed to in order for her to survive. "I want you to know that werewolves are not...welcome in much of wizarding society. It's something we all have to live with. If you want to go to a wizard for help, you'll likely not receive any. Or worse. Our kind is not treated well."

The girl nodded seriously, her hair bouncing with the motion of her head. "I've read a little about werewolves…" she trailed off as tears formed in her eyes.

Fenrir cocked his head to the side, she'd obviously had a thought and he was curious as to what had upset her so.

"They— They won't try to keep me out of Hogwarts, will they?" The way her brown eyes looked up at him, pleading and full of tears filled him with an emotion he could not describe. He loved this little cub already.

He chuckled quietly at the thought, "Who's to know, pup?"

The way her eyes widened made him laugh further. Apparently the thought of bending some rules was not appealing to her. She'd get over that, it would just take a little while.

"Isn't there a registry?" she asked, a small frown crinkling her brow.

He nodded, "There is a list, but the magic isn't infinite. It only reaches so far. Each region handles it differently. France hasn't had a werewolf _problem_ in centuries."

Hermione nodded once more, and then frowned thoughtfully at Fenrir. "Which list are you on?"

Fenrir laughed quietly, he wasn't about to tell her that he was generally on the blacklist for most regions. There were _some_ tidbits of information that the countries liked to share. "I'll let you figure that out for yourself."

"Will you tell me where you're from?" She inquired.

A curious sort. It made sense from all the reading he had seen her do the last several days; and how the bookstore own knew her. "Can't place the accent, pup?" he grinned at her slightly.

She frowned and shook her head, clearly frustrated, if only mildly. "I know I should, but everything's a bit fuzzy."

" _It'll get better_ ," he comforted her in his native tongue, smirking when realization hit her face.

"Norway." She eyed him with a air of pride that the werewolf could not help but chuckle at.

"Very good," he praised her, laughing again when she beamed at his simple praise.

Fenrir could not help but stare at the girl. Young as she was, she was so easy to let his guard down with her. The longer she spent in his presence, the more he could feel their magic entwining, creating a bond he knew all too well. The bond between Alpha and packmate was not always a quick process; some trust had to be built, but this girl didn't seem to need that time. Fenrir felt like the bond had already been there for days, though it had been less than twelves hours since it had begun to form. It was so strong, tugging at him even as he sat next to her. He could _feel_ her elation at his praise, just as surely as he could smell it, or see it on her bright face.

They remained in a comfortable silence for a time, until Fenrir noticed a change. The girl's posture began to curl in, and he knew she was upset.

"I can hear them," she said, a pained look on her face, like she wanted anything else to have been the problem.

It took him a moment to realize she was talking about her parents. He had no trouble hearing them, or tuning them out, for that matter. He had been doing the latter for the last while; he honestly did not care what her parents thought. They could not get her away from him now; they could make things harder, but never completely keep him from her. He would always be able to find her. Just as the rest of the pack, her bond would tug him toward her like a rope, should he need to find her. He hadn't thought about how her parents' argument might upset her. He frowned slightly, smelling her distress. He did not like it at all.

He looked down at the girl, her brown eyes shining with tears again.

"First lesson," he said quietly, "You're going to know more about everyone than you ever wanted."

She looked up at him, rubbing the tears from her eyes.

"But," he smiled gently, "there are benefits." He knew immediately that he had piqued her curiosity. Fenrir gave her a mischievous smirk, "Do you want me to tell you, or would you rather figure it out yourself?"

She deliberated his words for a moment before her small features plastered into a determined frown, "I can figure it out!"

Fenrir grinned; his new pup liked a challenge. Pulling the leather cord from around his neck, he handed it to the girl. He lifted her chin to meet his eyes, a gesture she would soon understand better.

* * *

Hermione once again found herself staring into the impossibly blue eyes of the werewolf in front of her. She grasped the pendant that he gave her tightly in one hand. He was really serious about this, despite all the grins he shot her way. He was going to teach her. She wasn't going to have to go alone.

"You have everything you need," he said simply, before grinning. "I want you to close your eyes, count, then follow me."

The girl was taken aback for a moment. "Hide-and-go-seek? That's a kid's game."

"And you, little one, are a child," he poked her nose with a grin. "Humor me. You wanted to figure it out."

Bemused, the young witch closed her eyes and counted to twenty. She picked up slight sounds of rustling, but could not tell which way the older werewolf had gone. The running water had covered the sound of his steps just enough. She knew he had not gone into the river.

 _You have everything you need_. Hermione stared at the pendant in her hand. It was shaped like a crescent moon, with three small moonstones in the center; it was beautiful, but didn't seem to be magical. What did he mean her to do with such an object?

Her parents' voices still reached her ears clearly enough to understand what they were saying. Hermione frowned at the campsite and stood. She looked around, hoping to find some sort of indication of which way the werewolf had gone. A moment later, she noticed half a fresh footprint in the soft grass by the riverbank. He had gone downstream. The witch followed the footprints with a new spring in her step, at least until the moved up into the forest and disappeared.

Frowning once more, the girl moved her hand up to scratch her head. The pendant flew past her face, giving her a noseful of a scent. She froze. The first thing that hit her was how wonderfully comforting the smell was. It brought a sense of home with it; like remembering a place from a feeling. It smelled like Fen; and home. It smelled like strength and the wild. Like the forest just after a storm. Bringing the pendant up to her nose once more, she took in a lungful of the werewolf's scent, swooning slightly with an overwhelming amount of the same feeling. She tried to memorize it, but mostly ended up distracted by the scent itself.

Shaking her head to try to clear it, the girl removed the pendant from her nose. Concentrating, Hermione took in the air, trying to pick out every scent. Suddenly overwhelmed by all the new smells that came to her with her deep, focused breath, she felt slightly dizzy before everything seemed to right once more. After a few more tries, she managed to take in a great deal of air without feeling lightheaded. She circled the area twice before she found the scent she wanted. Sniffing, she followed the scent further into the forest. Once she had the trail, it was surprisingly easy for her to follow. She soon found her feet pounding on the forest floor as she dashed quickly after the trail.

Hermione had run for several minutes before the scent abruptly disappeared. She turned, confused, backtracking to where she had smelled him last. His scent had taken a sharp turn around a tree and she had missed it.

* * *

Fenrir chuckled quietly to himself as the girl ran around beneath him. She was confused by the trail he had left, as he had intended. He watched her struggle for a few more moments before he heard her sigh quietly. Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he watched as she stopped directly beneath his hiding spot in the large pine tree.

The werewolf grinned, she was so close. He knew she was frustrated, and could not resist the urge to surprise her. Another good lesson, perhaps. He swung down, almost silently but for the purposeful crash that made the girl jump. She turned, her eyes wide, but her shock quickly morphed into a smile.

"My turn?" she squealed with delight before running off without waiting for an answer.

Fenrir laughed at the girls' enthusiasm. He closed his eyes to play along, but soon darted after her. She was naturally quiet, and he was impressed with how little noise she made. She did not, however, yet offer much in the way of tactics. He tarried quite a bit, trying to give her time to thing, but he still found her quickly.

"Gotta be faster, little one." He grinned when she huffed quietly.

"Your legs are faster than mine!" she defended herself, giving him a large pout. There was still mirth in her eyes; she was learning, and having fun.

"Lesson two. Not everyone is going to give you a fair fight," he said quietly, letting the graveness of that mental image sink in before allowing a grin to return to his face once more. "So, figure it out," he challenged her. He watched her put on her increasingly familiar determined frown; she was a stubborn little thing.

"My turn." He smirked, darting off when she closed her eyes.

* * *

 **A/N:** Playful Fenrir is really fun to write. We'll be seeing lots of him in this story.


	5. Questions

_There are only so many pieces in a puzzle. As more pieces are put together, the longer the conundrum is mulled over, it soon becomes apparent that there are pieces missing. For as long as pieces are kept hidden, there is a chance they will be discovered. There is only so much one can hide when there is another actively trying to figure out what is on those hidden pieces. Once a certain point is reached, the thinker no longer needs the missing pieces to see the whole picture. In the long run, it does not matter how well those pieces were hidden, they will be found out. It is up to the riddler to reveal those pieces at the right time, or risk the thinker making their own leaps about those same secrets._

 _Children love secrets; which makes it harder to hide things from them. So perceptive of other creatures, they search fervently after knowledge. If they are given the tastes they so desire, they may be content without delving further into more sensitive topics. However, if enough information is withheld, a child will not hesitate to discover what is being hidden from them, often with no thought as to why. Children are honest, and most do not yet possess the understanding that some things are hidden from them for protection. These understandings tend to come during adulthood, and while the knowledge that there is intended protection helps ease the urge to know, it does not abolish it._

 _Caution is the key. Knowing the proper time to give a child the information they so desire, while keeping enough of a barrier to protect some semblance of precious innocence, is something all parents wish to master. Inevitably, there are things the child will discover on their own; and then it is up to the adult to be the one to let go._

 _Nothing is harder than a child growing up._

* * *

 **Questions**

* * *

Hermione smiled proudly to herself; she was no longer having any troubling following the other werewolf's scent. She now took off after him without hesitation, her parent's argument gone from her mind as the chase with her new friend grew more rapid. Her strong heart pumped her blood better than ever before and she did not notice the hours flying by.

The girl caught up to the elder werewolf once again; who laughed at her enthusiasm. The two continued to play; Hermione trying to remember everything Fen was teaching her. The one thing that began to bring her back to reality was her growling stomach. As her hunger grew, she noticed the sun was high in the sky, it was nearly noon. She did not think much of it, other than it was definitely lunch time.

Hermione chased Fen across the riverbank, his scent leaving once more on the other side. She could not tell which way he had gone. She frowned; she should have thought about using the water to mask her scent; she _knew_ that it was often an effective tactic, but she had missed the opportunity and the moment.

"Lesson two," Fen appeared at her side, his scent wafting only briefly ahead of him. "Your nose," he brushed his index finger down the bridge of her nose, "is your most dependable ally, but don't forget about your other senses."

Hermione nodded, committing his words to memory. She smiled up at him; their chases through the forest had been exhilarating.

Fen turned toward the campsite sharply, as though something had caught his attention.

Hermione was struggling to pick up anything over the noise of the river running next to her feet. It was much louder here than anywhere else in the forest.

"Let's get back," he said, his brown furrowed seriously. The werewolf shook his head before giving her a quick smirk, "I'll race you."

Hermione laughed and leapt over the rocks in front of her with no warning; the larger werewolf in hot pursuit. The girl skittered around trees as she made a beeline to the campsite. She could not help the giggles that erupted in her throat as they continued to run.

A few quick, thrilling moments later, Hermione skidded into the campsite, but she lost her balance, tripping on a small tree root. She flailed, trying to catch herself from hitting the ground hard. Before she could even cry out, Fen had caught her by the waist and picked her up out of her fall. He quickly righted her and removed his hands carefully, his gaze fixed on something beyond her.

Hermione followed the elder werewolf's gaze and the grin slipped of her face when she was met with the alarmed faces of her parents. The campsite smelled like...worry. Her mother looked angry and her father looked sick. A lump grew in her throat; she had not even thought about her parents when she had run into the woods with Fen. She had been gone for hours…

"Hermione," her mother said, her voice tense, but surprisingly even, "Please do not run off like that."

Hermione nodded, still stunned that she had been so careless, horrified that she had caused her parents even more grief.

"Don't blame her," Fen said quietly, "It was my fault. She could hear your...discussion."

Hermione got the sudden impression that the werewolf was about to step between her and her parents. He never did, but the feeling did not go away. He was protecting her; it was an odd feeling, to be protected from her parents. It was something she didn't _need_ , but it was there nevertheless.

She was surprised when her mother merely nodded curtly, "Jean Granger," she held out her hand in a stiff greeting.

"Fen Ulfson," the werewolf replied.

"Fen, thank you for saving our daughter. We cannot repay for that; and it seems we are to owe you more for your willingness to stick with her through this."

"It was nothing, I promise you. I am happy to help make her transition easier than mine was." He gave Hermione another enigmatic grin before he was rather bombarded with questions by her parents.

Hermione took in everything Fen explained to her about being a werewolf. While the tone between the four was not light, it was no longer hostile or tense. Hermione felt comfortable in the new situation, despite some of the hard challenges she was going to face now that she was also a werewolf.

Being a werewolf was not easy; Fen explained how werewolves had not been treated well by wizarding society, and that hiding it was, unfortunately, best. He explained the lunar cycle in brief; aside from the full moon itself, which she was a bit hesitant to ask about, she had not thought about the rest of the moon. She was a little disappointed to learn that the new moon seemed to be just the opposite of the full moon, and she would feel tired and a bit lethargic for a few days. Fen stayed with them well through the day, patiently answering all questions posed to him. Hermione wondered if he was quite used to talking so much, he seemed slightly uncomfortable. She wasn't sure how she knew that, she supposed it was his scent. She really didn't know enough about her own new senses to be able to separate everything she felt. The witch rubbed her eyes, realizing she had not really slept the night before. She tried to keep awake, to hear everything the other werewolf was saying. It was important…

The rumble of his voice next to her just seemed to lose all meaning. It was soft and comforting. Hermione closed her eyes just to listen to the sound.

* * *

Fenrir chuckled when the little witch slumped against him, entirely asleep. She was understandably tired; she'd been through a lot in the last day. He could smell the concern wafting over from the girl's parents and sighed internally.

"She trusts you," Charles mused quietly.

Fenrir absent-mindedly stroked the top of her head as she slept. He glanced down at the cub and then looked back at her father, who wore a concerned frown. Fenrir knew the man didn't trust him, as well he shouldn't, after what he had done. The man didn't need to know everything Fenrir had done, but he could give enough information to partially sate the man's worries.

"We are more like real wolves than wizards like to believe," he started, "Finding a pack is the most important drive a werewolf has. My actions this morning would have started the pack bond by themselves, but after she continued to seek me out, it only tied her more to my pack." Fenrir paused, and, not sensing any increased hostility from the man across the table, he continued, "She accepted the pack bond, without realizing what she had done. She is under my protection now. I will not let any harm come to her while she is in my charge," Fenrir promised, meaning every word.

The man and woman across the table seemed to accept his speech. He was surprised how quickly they seemed to trust him. They smelled incredibly wary, but they trusted their daughter. They had immense respect for her and her decisions, despite her age.

"Your...pack," Jean said thoughtfully, "What are they like? Are they good people?"

Fenrir nodded, trying not to let his tiredness appear on his face. Talking was not something he did not do a great deal of. When something could be said with a growl or a glance, it was so much easier to communicate, but humans never quite seemed to pick up on those signals the same way.

"Yes. They would treat her well, but that won't be an issue."

"You will not take her there, then?"

Fenrir shook his head, and he instantly smelled waves of relief coming off of the humans across the table.

"I may take her for a visit if she asks me when she's older, but for now, she's far too young," Fenrir paused, "Truly being with the pack changes you, and she should make that choice on her own, when she's old enough to make it."

* * *

Some time later, Hermione was gently shaken awake. She opened her eyes groggily to see the now familiar ice blue irises of Fen staring back at her.

"I have to go, pup."

Hermione shook the sleep from her eyes, trying to keep the fear and disappointment off her face. "Will I really see you again? I— I don't want to be alone."

"I'll be back before the full moon," the werewolf smiled slightly.

She nodded again, reaching out to hug him without thinking. She wrapped her small arms around him, further memorizing his scent. She acutely felt the loss of his warmth when, after a moment, he stepped away. "Thank you," she mumbled quietly, before nearly falling straight back asleep.

* * *

Fenrir hated to leave her. He knew she was scared and had so many more questions than he could ever hope to have the patience to answer. She would be fine; she needed to grow up with just the right amount of his help. He had already taken one choice from her, he was not going to take her family too. He had no reason to worry for her safety; as far as tragedies that were going to befall her in this part of France, he was certain _he_ had already caused the worst of them.

Any werewolves she met wouldn't touch her, she belonged to a pack now. His pack. Those who clung to wolfsbane would not even be able to sense she was a werewolf, anyway. The foul potion dulled the senses so badly that they'd never be able to smell her. He hoped the girl would never have to go through anything like that; if she did, he swore silently that whoever subjected her to such a fate would have their throats ripped out. She was _his._

He turned back toward the campsite for one last wistful glance, he really did not want to leave her. He was finally getting used to her confounding scent; he would have to start over next month. The werewolf sighed and reluctantly turned away with a soft growl. He would see her again soon; a month really was not that long.

* * *

 **A/N:** What a day for Hermione. She deserves some rest.


	6. Trusting

_There are few creatures as trusting as children. They must be, by necessity, trusting of those who are older and more experienced. Sometimes their trust is ill-placed, but to a child, most beings are innocent until proven guilty. Likewise, there are few creatures as patient as a wolf; not only must they cooperate in order to ensure everyone is fed, but they will endure after prey for miles, wearing them down to be certain of their course and strategy before moving in._

 _These two instincts are not exclusive, the trust of a child and the trust of the wolf are both good; when they are combined, however, it can lead to trouble, especially when one is new. Eventually, one may overtake the other; as the need for a pack grows, the childish human instincts may decrease in favor of the stronger urges that ensure both safety and survival._

 _Instincts to protect are as important to the wolf as the drive to hunt together. The young wolves are never involved in the danger that may befall an adult wolf on the hunt. A stray kick from a large animal can kill even the hardiest of predators. The young are there to learn; watching their elders and staying out of trouble. They know not to allow themselves the luxury of curiosity. What happens when a child's curiosity overcomes the knowledge that one should stay, and do what they've been told?_

 _Everything comes in balance; though not always using the scales we were looking for._

* * *

 **Trusting**

* * *

Three weeks later, Fenrir was practically tearing his hair out. The alpha werewolf was irritable, snapping at his packmates for no real reason. There was a crawling anxiousness that had taken root in the back of his skull, and he knew it had everything to do with the bushy-haired girl he had bitten. He itched to run after the pull of her bond and find her; he _knew_ she was fine, he could feel it, but the werewolf did not like being so far away. Yet another way the girl was different. Fenrir growled a sigh, clenching his jaw to keep from escalating the noise and startling yet another poor unsuspecting werewolf. The whole pack had been on tiptoes for weeks, and he knew it was his fault. Fenrir knew he was being irrational, and yet couldn't bring himself to care. She had been distressed about something the day before, but he had no idea what about. That was the way the pack bond worked, no matter how much more she stood apart from the others; it was a pity it didn't relay more than a few feelings.

The large werewolf paced back and forth, wearing a path in front of Geira's door. _She_ was the one who had asked him to come sit with her in the first place, and now she was making him _wait._ He growled when she finally opened her door.

"Good morning to you too, Alpha," she said cheerfully, like he wasn't glaring daggers at her. Her grandmotherly face sported a knowing smile, which only served to irritate him further. "Care to sit?"

Pressing his lips together, Fenrir reluctantly took a seat next to the woman's cheery fire. Holding still turned out to be harder than he expected. He watched the old werewolf putter around her hut, taking her damned time.

"Tea?"

Fenrir snorted impatiently, which earned him a sharp look.

"Don't be rude, _Fenrir_. You may be Alpha, but I've still got years on you yet. _Sit down_ and have some tea."

It wasn't until she had told him to sit that he realized he was standing once more. He grunted and returned to his seat, grumbling in his native tongue. His whole body was tense, like a coiled spring, just waiting to snap. The old woman tsked at him as she finished making her tea; she handed Fenrir a cup before taking a seat herself.

"What do you want, Alpha?"

Fenrir sighed, taking a sip of his tea. He let his shoulders drop as the hot drink seemed to soothe him slightly. He knew what he wanted, he just didn't understand _why._

"I want her _here,_ " he said quietly, staring into the fire. Geira was one of the only two he had told about the girl. The other was his beta, Andor, who had thought the whole thing a great amusement. They were the two who might begin feeling the pull of the bond before they met her, but Fenrir was not truly certain about anything about the girl, even such a simple thing.

"Why?"

"She confuses me," he admitted reluctantly to the elder.

Geira smiled once more, "Perhaps a puzzle will do you good, Alpha. You've been too idle these last few years."

Fenrir knew that tone. "What do you know, woman?" he growled quietly, knowing she would not give in to the quiet but blatant threat. This woman had been putting him in his place since he was fifteen, and that was not liable to change.

"I can't tell you what to do, Alpha. She's still a child, and you've already said what you're going to do. So leave her be as you choose. I'm sure you'll figure out why she confuses you, in time." The older werewolf smiled, "and make sure you finish that tea."

Fenrir sighed, the woman hadn't said anything he hadn't already thought of, and yet he felt somewhat better. He glanced into his cup and finished what was left, having drunk it quicker than he thought.

* * *

Hermione sat happily in the garden, reading her new book. Alongside her textbooks for the upcoming school year, the young witch had acquired a few choice texts on werewolves. _All_ of which she had put down in disgust more than once; every single one of them told the same horrid, biased opinion of lycanthropy that Fen had warned her of. She growled quietly at the tomes; it hadn't been much of a curse so far; in fact, she had more energy now than ever. With the one exception being the new moon; her sleep had felt completely useless that night, but that had passed quickly. Everything was so much more colorful and alive; she could smell _everything_ , which sometimes was not so much of a blessing. As the moon grew larger in the sky, so did the girl's excitement. It was a week away from the full moon and she was understandably nervous, but her excitement nearly swallowed her anxiety. Fen would be there to help her through, and she already had so many more questions.

A strange feeling washed over her. Something had been eating at her all day; something was changing, and she hadn't been able to put her finger on it, but now it seemed to still once more. She let the feeling cover her, a half-remembered sense of safety and warmth. Home. She looked up from her book, allowing her gaze to scan the forest behind the garden. Her eyes fell on a particular spot amongst the trees and stuck. Nothing _seemed_ to have changed, but she knew something was there. Something good. Leaving her book, she walked toward the trees, sniffing the air subtly. As she approached, she began to smile, she knew that smell. She was not surprised when Fen's icy blue eyes met hers.

"You're early," she said quietly, but could not keep the huge grin off her face; she was so happy to see him.

"I couldn't resist checking in on my favorite new cub," he replied casually, but his scent said there was something more than that. There was a hint of what Hermione was beginning to recognize as relief in his scent.

A thought occurred to her. "So...do you have a pack?" she asked him, "Am I in your pack?"

Her question did not seem to faze him, in fact, he gave her a small grin. "I do, and you are. Does that bother you?"

The girl shook her head, "I like that. It— It's nice to belong somewhere." She could feel his eyes on her and his scent had changed as soon as the words left her mouth. Not wanting to talk about it further, she quickly changed the subject, "Do I get to meet them?"

Fen chuckled, "Maybe when you're a bit older. Let's handle one moon at a time, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. "Can—" she hesitated, she wasn't certain how he would react to her knewest thought. She really had been craving physical attention, to the point where her parents had been getting slightly concerned.

"What is it, pup?"

Sheepishly, she nearly squeaked, "Can I have a hug?"

He laughed once more, opening his arms slightly in invitation.

Smiling, Hermione bounced happily towards him. She was a little confused about this development, but Fen was not surprised.

"It's easier to tell scents apart when you're close enough to touch," he said quietly.

"That's not the only reason, though?" Hermione knew if that was simply it, it would not be such a craving.

"No, but the other is not easy to explain. Wolves need each other, pup," the older werewolf sighed, "Your time around humans may make it worse."

Hermione nodded, only half-absorbing what he was saying. "You're very warm, Alpha," she murmured quietly, not thinking as the words left her lips.

She felt Fen chuckle as much as she heard the sound, "You keep listening to that intuition of yours, pup; it'll serve you well."

As Hermione realized what she had said, her eyes widened. She hadn't meant to say that; she wasn't even sure where it had come from, but Fen had praised her for it. She quite liked the idea of his approval.

"Alright, kid," his deep, comforting voice rang out above her, "You want to run?"

She looked up at the werewolf who was swiftly becoming her friend as well as her mentor. It suddenly clicked in her head; he was her pack leader, the Alpha. That had to be why she trusted him so much. She nodded excitedly, remembering the last time they played.

Fen's eyes brightened and he crept back into the woods.

Hermione smiled and darted after him. If anything, her senses were stronger than when she had first been bitten. She ran after Fen gleefully, chasing his scent around the trees. They ran together, playing their game of chase for much longer than Hermione thought she could run for. She was hardly winded when Fen caught up to her for the third time.

The larger werewolf pulled her into his arms, laughing quietly. Hermione let out a squeal of delight and hugged the other werewolf, reveling in the safety of being with not only her own kind, but her protector. She had missed his scent and the feeling of home he brought with him. She felt so comfortable and peaceful. "It's because you're my Alpha, isn't it?" she finally asked him without voicing the rest of her thoughts.

"Which part, pup?"

"I trust you," she said simply. "I don't really know you, so that must be it."

"Don't underestimate your instincts, little one," Fen said quietly, taking a moment to lift her to sit on his shoulders.

Being up so high should not have been so comfortable for Hermione, who had never been a fan of heights, but she had no fear on Fen's shoulders. More trust.

Fen took the two of them back to her garden, setting her down near her book.

Hermione had the feeling he was going to be leaving again. "Would you come in for dinner?" she asked, not really wanting him to leave.

She watched his eyes dart up to the window of the house, "I appreciate the offer, little one, but I'm not certain I'm a welcome guest."

Hermione turned to see her mother's resigned face frowning at the larger werewolf through the kitchen window.

Fen quirked a smile and knelt to her level. "I'll see you in a week," he said quietly, and then he was gone.

"Hermione," her mother called her from inside the house.

The girl cheerfully made her way inside at her mother's behest.

"I don't like that man," Jean said quietly to her daughter when Hermione shut the door behind her.

"I trust him, Mum," Hermione said plainly.

"I know you do, darling, but he makes me nervous," Jean said, "I just want to be certain you know what you're doing. What if he's dangerous?"

Hermione lowered her head slightly, she honestly hadn't thought of it. It hadn't even occurred to her. She deliberated for a moment. "I— I don't think I have a choice, even if he is. He cares, Mum."

"How do you know, Hermione?"

"I can smell it," she said, eyeing her mother cautiously.

Jean gave a resigned sigh and nodded, "Alright, Hermione. I know you'll tell me if anything changes."

Hermione nodded, "I promise."

* * *

 **A/N:** Full moon next week! Stay tuned!

~Rev


	7. Magics

_The seasons of the moon's magic come and go, and there are times when it is weak, and times when it is strong. For the uninitiated, the pull of the moon is overwhelming; the first time one is subjected to the moon's pull, it it not an easy transition. For most, it is quite a shock. The massive power of the moon has immediate and unrelenting effects on those it is allowed to influence. Once a soul has become used to the magic of the moon, it is easy to give in, to let the power flow through them and allow the magic to have its way._

 _Once a soul has given in, there is so much freedom that comes with the power of the moon. It grants energy and life; the promise of new things to come. Learning, teaching, and playing. Fear holds souls back from letting the moon take over, but once that fear has been abolished, there is a soothing feeling that comes from the great natural magic._

 _All who truly know the moon look forward to its arrival as it waxes in the sky._

* * *

 **Magics**

* * *

The week went by quickly, and Hermione found herself increasingly excited for the full moon. The girl had taken to finding the moon at least once a day, admiring the way it grew each day. It was beautiful, shining brightly in the sky each and every night. She could feel the orb calling to her; it pulled her instincts further toward the wolf that she felt lurking beneath the surface. It was not an entirely odd feeling, not after feeling it for weeks now. She didn't fight it when it came up, which often happened when she was feeling a particularly strong emotion. A growl when she was angry, or a wayward whine when she didn't get her way. They no longer surprised her when they slipped out of her mouth, but she could see a strange light in her parents' eyes and could smell their apprehension. It made her sad. They didn't understand, and neither would her friends.

Fen was her only base; her only anchor for this part of her life, at least until she met the rest of his pack. Her pack, she supposed. He had seemed mildly concerned when she asked about going to visit them; and she was unsure why he was so hesitant, but he as good as promised her they would go when she was older. Hermione was excited to see her Alpha again. He had not been kidding when he said werewolves needed each other. She felt the loss as soon as Fen had left the week before; it wasn't an unbearable feeling, but she missed him all the same. On-top of it all, the werewolf was one of the few friends she had outside of Hogwarts, and though she'd written letters to Harry, he hadn't responded to a single one. She assumed while they were in France that the letters might be waiting for her at home, but was disappointed to find nothing.

Hermione put those thoughts out of her mind, tonight was about her first transformation. She began to grow slightly nervous as the sun began to go down toward the horizon. Now that it was truly upon her, everything she had read and thought jumbled around in her head. She could feel the moon rising, she could not explain the feeling entirely, but there was no mistaking it.

She looked at her parents, their eyes as concerned as she felt. She smiled, not able to completely hide her nerves, and hugged each of her parents tightly.

"Be safe, bookworm."

"I will, Dad. I promise," Hermione said quietly, "I'll be back in the morning."

Hermione turned, the feeling of home coming over her once more. Fen was standing the open doorway.

"Are you ready, little one?"

Hermione nodded, swallowing slightly.

The two werewolves walked together into the forest. The girl leaned toward the older werewolf as they walked, craving the constant heat the other werewolf emitted. She knew she was probably just as warm, but she didn't feel it.

"We have over an hour yet," Fen said as they walked, "I know you must have questions."

Hermione took a deep breath, nodding. She had planned out so many questions, but decided to settle on the most important ones. "Will I lose myself?"

Much to her relief, Fen shook his head with a slight grin, "I can't promise you'll remember, but _I_ will. You're young and brand new. It may take months before you fully remember your moons."

She nodded, taking in everything he said, but still bursting to have the rest of her questions answered.

"Will I hurt anyone?"

"No," Fen replied emphatically, "I will be with you the whole time."

Hermione nodded once more, dreading to ask her last question. She was so grateful for Fen's patience and willingness to teach her, and he was telling her the truth; she knew he was. She stopped, taking a moment to breathe. Fen's footsteps stopped and she could hear him turn toward her. He was quiet, waiting for her to speak.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered.

He didn't say anything immediately; she could hear his sigh. The girl took one look at the larger werewolf and it was all she needed to confirm her fears.

Fen's blue eyes pierced her with a concerned frown and his lips were pressed together in a line of pity. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice quiet. "I promise you, it's worth it, pup."

She eyed him with awe, recognizing the conviction in his voice. There was a glint in his eyes that told her he meant every word he said; more than meant it, he truly believed it. It was worth every bit of hardship; it was both encouraging and frightening.

"Does it ever stop hurting?"

"Never," he replied, a strange look on his face, his eyes glinting in what was left of the rapidly setting sunlight.

Hermione set her jaw and nodded again.

After walking in a companionable silence, Hermione asked the other werewolf one more question.

"How far are we going?"

"As far as we can. The more distant, the better," Fen replied, seeming slightly absent-mindedly.

"So we don't hurt anyone?"

* * *

Fenrir chuckled quietly at the girl's naivety. "So no one hurts us. Most won't take kindly to your screams, little one."

The small witch blanched; Fenrir felt a bit guilty for scaring her, but he was telling the truth. He shifted quickly and quietly after decades of practice; but this cub would scream. He ran a soothing hand through her hair, "You'll be fine, pup."

She nodded, her bushy hair bouncing along. Fenrir could smell her anxiety, but there was a firm mask of resolution that hung over the small girl. The werewolf quirked a small smile at her, but it slid off his face when he realized how close the moon was. They weren't far enough yet. Without a word, he scooped the girl up onto his shoulders and ran.

She laughed quietly at his movements, "I can run, Alpha."

"If you thought you were tired last week, you're in for it tomorrow."

She didn't argue with him, but did reply with enough sass that he chuckled heartily.

The moon was close. They had some time yet until it rose enough to affect them, or so Fenrir thought. Only moments later he heard the small witch panting quietly. It had begun for her. They had to stop.

Fenrir gently placed his charge down, stroking her head soothingly, brushing away the beads of sweat that collected on her warm forehead. It had been so long since his first transformation, he hardly recalled it anymore. He did remember it being the most painful of the hundreds of transformations he'd had over his life.

He watched the girl groan as she doubled in on her small body. Fenrir's heart clenched slightly as he watched the tears begin to roll down her cheeks. It was only lessened by a twinge of pain in his own shoulders that was slowly crawling to the base of his neck. It had begun; he made sure to stay close to her as he shifted.

"It hurts, Alpha," she cried, a pained whine echoing through every breath.

"I know, pup. Don't fight it," he growled through gritted teeth.

Fenrir grunted in pain as the change began to flow through him. He growled, absent-mindedly removing his shirt as he bent nearly double. He was more concerned with the screams coming from the small witch next to him. Her agonized half-human, half-lupine voice pierced the dark forest; Fenrir crawled over to her, ignoring the pain in his spine, until he could reach out and touch her. She writhed and whined and screamed, her bones cracking and popping as they tried to figure out her new form.

Fenrir felt his chest tighten and knew the change was nearly through for him. The large werewolf took a deep breath and let the change flow over him; the moments that it took feeling like an eternity with the girl screaming next to him.

It took him the better part of a minute to shift, but his girl was not so lucky. He watched her small form writhe painfully on the ground, her screams turning to yelps, her half-formed libs spasming as they, too, changed.

Fenrir knelt down and rubbed his nose along her arm, before jumping back to avoid a flailing limb.

Resigned, the werewolf sat and watched as the cub went through the most painful transformation she would ever have in her long life. His emotions were simpler now that he had shifted, but he whined softly in some semblance of pity.

It took the girl over five minutes to shift, and when her growls ceased, she merely lay panting on the forest floor. As soon as she stopped flailing, Fenrir darted over to her and nuzzled her fondly. She whined, her small body trembling as she tried to stand. Her legs collapsed underneath her, eliciting a hurt whine and a yelp from the small cub. Ever patient, Fenrir gave her a gentle nudge once more, trying to convince her to stand. She still trembled as she stood, but the second time she stayed up.

Slowly, Fenrir tried to encourage her to move. She took trembling, hesitant steps at first, but soon she was up and testing her limbs, her earlier pain seemingly forgotten.

The large werewolf stood and sniffed the air, picking up on the scent of some nearby deer. He was wary around the cub; she was carefree and needed watching over. There were too many things that could be dangerous for her. Despite the urge to hunker down, he knew he was hungry, and he assumed the cub would be as well. The night was busy for the pair of werewolves, he showed the cub how to hunt before the two began to play. The wolves romped through the woods, never sighting another creature unless it was to frighten it out of wherever it was hiding. Alpha and pupil danced under the moon, learning and teaching, embracing the freedom that came with their moongiven forms.

* * *

Fenrir sat up slowly, shaking his head to clear the sleep from it. He stretched lazily in the cool air of the summer morning, grinning down at the small girl using his leg as a pillow, completely exhausted. Despite his comfort, he removed himself from the sleeping girl to look for the clearing they had shifted in.

It took him longer than he wanted to fetch their clothes, and it was minutes later when he realized his mistake. He was heading back when he heard the girl frantically calling for him. He ran back as quickly as he could, carrying both sets of clothes.

His heart wrenched slightly and he berated himself in his native tongue when he saw her crying, naked and alone in the middle of a cold forest. The relief he saw on her face when she spotted him only made him feel worse.

"I thought you left—" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I brought your clothes," he said softly, averting his eyes as he held them out to her. He turned away when she thanked him and quickly put them on. Fenrir did the same with his own clothing. The cold did not bother him, but he did not want her to feel uncomfortable.

"I'm cold, Alpha," the girl said sheepishly after she had dressed.

Fenrir pulled the shivering girl into her arms, inhaling her scent which was still a mystery to him. He gently rubbed her shoulders, "It will pass, little one. Let's get moving. Your parents will worry."

She nodded and began to head toward her home. It worked for a mile or so, but Fenrir noticed her stumbling steps. Her feet fumbled ahead of her and her walk swayed bath and forth as she continued forward. Fenrir could smell her exhaustion increase rapidly. He caught her just as she stumbled forward, falling instantly asleep. Fenrir cradled the girl in his arms before taking off at a comfortable jog that would not wake her.

The back door to the cub's house opened the moment Fenrir entered the garden. The girl's parents ran out, frantically checking over their daughter to see if she was alright.

"She's just exhausted." Fenrir must have said various iterations of the same line at least ten times before they finally believed him. "She should wake in a few hours."

Fenrir watched her parents take her from him, thoroughly dismissed. He growled quietly, holding back the sound as much as he could. The moment she left his arms he was immediately felt possessive and wanted her back. Before he could do something he regretted, he turned on his heel and left. He was already upset at the separation from the rest of the pack. He wanted nothing more than to take her home, but that feeling wasn't new. He knew he would be fighting those feeling for years to come, and pushed it to the back of his mind.

Hermione was the youngest member of his pack, and she was alone. He hated that. He wished he could take care of her, but he knew better. She had tied strings around him that were not just the pack bonds, they were of some part of the strange bond that inexplicably tied the girl to him. He was more than a little fond of her. He could see her running with the few other children in the pack, but she deserved to go to school. So, against his screaming instincts, he left, waiting patiently for the next full moon.


	8. Leaving

_Seasons change, and just as the full moon comes into the sky, so must its brother, the new moon. For those tied to the magic of the moon, this time is the most difficult to bear. There is little to soften the blow of such a loss; a fellowship of familiar creatures may be enough to cushion the feelings of loss and lethargy that come with the absence of such a strong magic, but lacking that fellowship makes the time that much harder._

 _There are always mysteries that the moon presents one creature to another. By sight or hearing or touch alone, one can often not tell what is friend and what is foe. As the moon casts shadows into a darkened forest, distorting what is there to see with still more shadow, the great magic also distorts the reality of those entwined in it._

* * *

 **Leavings**

* * *

The summer crawled by for Hermione. The young witch tried to busy herself in her books, but she always had the itching feeling like something was missing. She _knew_ what she was missing, she could feel it pulling at her; calling her toward it. It was Fen. She was tied to the pack, and Fen was her link to the rest of the werewolves. She could feel him; she could swear she sometimes _felt_ what he was feeling. Very occasionally she felt unexplainable bouts of annoyance that she knew weren't her own. She never felt like acting on them, but they rested in the back of her head like a lingering scent in the kitchen after a Christmas Eve of cooking. It was pleasant, knowing there was such a deeply rooted connection between them, even when he was irritated.

The bond to the pack was dull today; almost fuzzy. It was like being able to hear the radio, but not without a firm layer of static, not deafening, but also never gone. It was the new moon, and Hermione was exhausted and irritable. She had woken up that morning with no true desire to leave her bedroom, but she knew it was just because of the moon. It was the pinnacle of her latest lonely feelings; she was close to tears most of the day, choosing to bury herself in her books to avoid the feeling. It didn't work as well as she'd hoped, and she found herself restless enough to end up walking in the woods behind her house towards mid-afternoon.

The forest was warm, but provided much needed shelter from the sun. The leaves were not starting to turn yet, as it was still early August. It would not be long until they began to turn and fall, but for now it was still green. She felt different out here, somehow closer to the pack.

"Hello, pup."

The sound of Fen's voice did not make her jump. She turned and smiled, surprised to see him. That was the change she had felt over her walk, it had been her Alpha getting closer.

"Don't you have other people to see?" she questioned when she heard him coming up behind her.

"After two weeks, that's the greeting I get?" the werewolf growled.

Hermione turned, halfway through an apology, before she realized there was no irritation in his scent, nor in his growl. In fact, he wore a knowing grin.

"The new moon is hard for everyone," Fen remarked, more seriously, his blue eyes searching her face as though looking for signs of injury or wear.

"Even you, Alpha?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "The change gets faster, and the new moon longer," Fen replied with a small sigh.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, considering his words. She wasn't certain how she would manage to handle feeling so lonely for so long. "I feel alone a lot," she confessed, knowing that if anyone would understand, it was going to be the only other werewolf she knew.

"I'm sorry," Fen immediately replied, "It's the price we pay for this. The pack banishes those feelings, but then it's that much harder to leave. You understand why I will not take you?"

Hermione nodded, "You want me to go to school."

"And I want you to keep your family, little one. I may have been older than you when I was bitten, but I still could not save mine." Fen's eyes carried a strange light as he spoke.

Hermione was now immensely curious to hear the story of the Alpha werewolf's family, but she could see the sadness in his eyes and thought it best to not push him. It seemed to her that he opened up a little more each time she saw him.

"I'll come by more often to ease the loneliness, if you want." There was a sudden hopeful look in his eyes that made Hermione smile.

"I would like that very much," she confessed. "When I get back to school…"

Fen voiced her fears, confirming the new hardships she would face there. "It's going to be harder. I'll still meet you every month, but it's not easy for me to get in, or for you to sneak out," he sighed, seeming just as put out with the prospect as she was, "But I'm sure you'll keep busy. Humans don't make the best packmates, but you if you have a few good friends, they'll help keep you from feeling alone."

Hermione hoped Harry and Ron would fill that for her. "Alpha?"

"Hmm?" The werewolf let out a contented scent with his reply.

"Why do you care so much about me?"

* * *

Her simple question caught him off-guard. In truth, he did not know himself for certain. He knew he sought her presence more than the rest of the pack, and that baffled him. The girl was staring at him with her large brown eyes, still full of the question she had asked.

It wasn't often he told her the full truth, and now was one of the times it seemed he could. "I don't know, pup. I don't want you to go through what I did, but there's more to it than that."

She nodded thoughtfully, in a way Fenrir was becoming very familiar with.

"Am I special?" she asked, her head tilted to the side.

Fenrir laughed, "Yes, you are. You're a mystery, little one, and that's more than I've had in a long time."

She gave him a determined nod, "Maybe I can help figure it out."

The older werewolf laughed once more, he could smell the heat on her face at his praise, she was truly adorable.

Then she uttered something that stilled him, he swore his heart stopped.

"I can feel what you feel," she remarked quietly. "Is that normal?"

Fenrir stared at her, more confused than ever. "I— No, that's not normal." He wracked his brain to understand the what she had just told him. As far as he had ever understood, only the Alpha had that privilege. Did that mean this girl would one day replace him? That was a possibility, and not one he was going to shy away from. An old bond flickered at him as he thought; one day his pack would need a leader when he couldn't be. He hadn't planned on raising her with that weight on her shoulders, he didn't want to. Perhaps it could wait. He ran a hand through his hair, digging hard enough into his scalp to hurt.

"Alpha?" her concerned voice wafted to him through his clouded mind.

Fenrir took a deep breath. "I'm fine, pup." He gave her a small grin, "I had a thought, but I need to talk to someone wiser than I about it. Can you handle the rest of the day by yourself?"

Still giving him a concerned frown, she nodded. "I feel better enough now. Thank you, Fen."

* * *

Fenrir hated leaving her, as he always did, but he wanted to confer with Geira; she would most certainly know if that was what he was feeling or not.

"Well, Alpha, if you say that is what she said, it certainly sounds like that could be an explanation."

" _An_ explanation?" he growled. Geira, as she often did, was dodging his questions with indirect answers and words he knew were only as true as his belief in them was.

"I haven't met the girl, have I? I cannot know what she is without having laid eyes on her myself," the old woman said finally. "Have some tea, Alpha."

Fenrir growled quietly and took the warm cup from her hands, immediately calming when the vapors reached his nose. Geira had always given him tea when he was off-kilter, and it always seemed to do the trick now. When he was younger he had been less attuned with his strength, and had broken many a precious mug of the old werewolf's. Now it was habit to calm at the presence of a good cup of tea. The last several times she had made him sit with her through tea, it had been a different sort. He wasn't certain what the elder was putting in it, but it was soothing.

* * *

Two weeks later, Hermione's second full moon came and went. It was far too short a time for both werewolves. Hermione nearly cried when Fen left quickly, saying he had something to do. The young witch trusted her Alpha, but hated his abrupt departure. She did not even get to tell him about how she was leaving for school the next day. Twice now, he had left quickly with little or no explanation. She knew he had other responsibilities, but it hurt when he left.

The small werewolf quietly packed her things into her trunk, trying not to think on Fen's strange attitude when he had left that morning. He had given her an odd look, filled with both concern and excitement. She wondered if he had figured out what made her different. The previous night was the first time she had seen him since he had run off during the new moon. She started when she wondered if she was starting to become jealous of the werewolf's time. The idea of him wanting to spend time with someone _else_ made her want to growl. It wasn't the first time she had harbored similar thoughts, she'd never tell, but she knew she was nursing the beginnings of a crush on the adult werewolf. She'd get over it, she knew she was far too young to be even thinking of such things, nevermind the fact that not only was Fen old enough to be her father, he often acted like he _was._ The witch sighed and tried to put the thought out of her mind, it was a silly notion, but she was having trouble shaking it, as most young girls with such fancies.

It was the next day, mere moments before Hermione and her parents were to leave for Diagon Alley, when the girl felt the bond shift once more. Her eyes growing wide, she darted toward the backyard, hardly hearing the surprised cries from her parents.

Rushing into the garden, Hermione flung her arms around the werewolf in an innocent hug. "You almost missed us! I'm meeting the Weasleys at the Leaky Cauldron soon." Despite the words coming out of her mouth, Hermione didn't really want to speak, she just wanted to relish the hug from the older werewolf. She wasn't going to be able to see him for another month, and she knew she would be lonely.

Fen smiled at her, "I'm sorry I left so quickly yesterday, I hadn't realized it was so close to you leaving. I had this made for you."

The werewolf held out a leather cord, attached was a crescent pendant, nearly identical to his.

Her eyes widened, "Thank you…" The girl smiled up at the larger werewolf. "What is it for? Is it magical?"

Fen laughed, "It's just a trinket, pup, but it's tradition. It's a physical token of the pack bond." He had hardly finished speaking before the girl hugged him once more.

"Thank you, Fen."

* * *

"Of course," he smiled at her. She was so wonderfully cheerful, she never wanted to see her lose that. If she was to be the next Alpha, it was not going to last forever.

"Where will I meet you next month, Alpha?" she asked quietly, a hint of fear in her voice and her scent filled with apprehension.

"Don't worry, pup. If you're careful, you'll be fine."

She nodded, but Fenrir knew he had not successfully calmed her.

"What if someone finds out?" she was trembling slightly.

Fenrir pulled her chin up. "Get out," he said gravely.

She gave him a solemn nod, fear wafting off her.

"I _will_ find you, little one, got it?" he could hear her heart pounding. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise," he swore to her. He was going to protect her if he died trying. He pulled her into a firm hug and felt her finally calm.

He gave her a grin, "You'd best mind your temper. It won't do you any good to give yourself away with a good growl, now would it?"

Hermione nodded, giggling slightly.

Fenrir picked up the sound of Hermione's parents calling her. He gave her a nod of encouragement and watched her leave. He was worried about her being alone in _that_ school. As long as they didn't know, she would be fine. He would know if something happened to her, and held onto what little comfort that was going to offer him. The nine months she was away at school were going to be hard on both of them. He hoped she had good enough friends there that she would stay busy. She had mentioned the Weasleys, surely there were enough of those rowdy British redheads that she was friends with at least two of them. Fenrir rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he thought of the trouble she might get into with those kids as her friends. Hopefully she would continue to heed his words.


	9. Returns

_A cub striking out on her own can be the most worrisome time, both for the cub and for the parent. The power that the moon grants does not sate the concern that bubbles to the surface for both as they continue into a different stage of life. As a young wolf grows, the mentor must begin to let go, to let the cub make their own mistakes. There are some things that must be learned first-hand. No matter how often someone is warned, it never truly prepares them for the sting of discrimination or betrayal._

 _A wolf is different from other animals; they are easy to spot when they do not hide. However, a hidden wolf can be near impossible to pick out from the crowd. So it goes when a wolf tries to pass as something else, its disguise must be perfect; just flawed enough to seem real. When hurt, a wolf's instinct is to snap back at its attacker, but that will absolutely give it away, which is something it cannot allow. In order to remain hidden, a wolf must give much, including the safety and security that come from others of their kind._

 _A wolf must sacrifice in order to blend in; hide, or be ostracized._

 **Returns**

Despite Fen's misgivings, Hermione was fine. Her troubled feelings were washed away as soon as her friends ran up to her, practically attacking her with ecstatic smiles and tight hugs that overwhelmed her sensitive nose. For some reason, she expected there to be some huge sign painted across her forehead that screamed "werewolf" to every passerby, but no one seemed to notice. Fen had been right, as long as she was careful, they would never know. After a summer of just allowing her new wolfish instincts through to the surface when she was at home, she knew she was going to have a hard time adjusting to keeping back the quiet growls and her habit of sniffing the air when something confused her.

The young werewolf found herself having a hard time doing just that when assaulted with all the sights and scents that permeated Diagon Alley. Her parents gave her a concerned look when she hesitated for a few moments, trying to clear her head. She gave them a bright smile, hoping it was as assuring as she had meant it to be. She was relieved when they entered Flourish and Blotts, the smell of old books, and something else that was very pleasant to her sensitive nose permeated the air enough to dull the other scents in the crowded. Gilderoy Lockhart was in the shop, and she had never imagined he would smell quite so nice; there was a bitter twinge underneath it all, but the girl chalked it up to the massive crowd that was threatening to burst the small shop at the seams. She lost herself in the heat of the moment as Lockhart swept Harry up into the buzz of the publicity and proclaimed his upcoming tenure at Hogwarts. It was all so overwhelming and wonderful, she did not immediately notice the Malfoys come up behind them during the ado.

The hairs on the girl's neck stood up when a strong, cold, hateful scent met her nose. She spun to notice the Malfoys, with their leering, turned-up noses, poking at a red-faced Mr. Weasley. Biting back a small growl, Hermione went to join her friends; she focused on trying to hold Ron back as the elder Malfoy made verbal jabs at his father and his family. Close to angry tears herself, it was all the girl could do to hold back the growl in her throat and the urge to gnash her teeth. She let out a shocked yelp when the normally calm Arthur Weasley launched himself at Lucius Malfoy, though she didn't see much of their tussle before it was broken up by a determined Hagrid.

Later, back in Harry and Ron's room in the Leaky Cauldron, the group of schoolmates discussed what they had seen in the Alley, including Harry's accidental trip to Knockturn Alley.

"I'm telling you, they're dark wizards!" Ron said vehemently.

Harry nodded vigorously.

Hermione, always one to try to play devil's advocate, had neither a rebuttal nor the will to come up with one for that horrible family. She could smell the annoyance and fear from the boys sitting on the bed across from her and Ginny, with a slightly different scent coming from the girl next to her.

The red-head suddenly stood and exclaimed, rather louder than was necessary, "How was your trip, Hermione?"

Both boys seemed to immediately forget their troubles with the Malfoys and leaned in to hear Hermione's tales of France. She told them whatever she could that excluded any mention of werewolves. When Ginny asked her about the pendant hanging around her neck, she froze for a moment.

Thinking quickly she said, "It was a gift from someone I met in France." It wasn't a lie, not really.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at the statement. "Just a friend? Or something else?" The other girl grinned.

The boys heads whipped back to Hermione so quickly she was surprised they didn't have whiplash. She gave a laugh, hoping it was not too unsure. "Just a friend. You remember the book store owner I told you about?" Dropping the pseudo-explanation there, she hoped they would follow the path she had meant them to go down and drop the subject.

Which was exactly what they did. The conversation soon moved on to other subjects and the pendant was long forgotten by her friends. Hermione was at ease once more, though she decided to wear her pendant a little longer on its string, as it seemed to draw attention wherever it went, which was something the young werewolf really wanted to avoid. If no one noticed anything, that was far less that she'd have to deny.

It was not until the first Saturday of the term that Hermione once again was confronted with the fact that she was different. It was just after the Gyrffindor Quiddditch team had started the first practice of the year. Hermione was in the stands close to the pitch, and growled quietly when she saw a band of silver and green robes sauntering towards the center of the field. She immediately stood, knowing that an argument would inevitably ensue.

Wood flew down, rather faster than was necessary, on his broom, and nearly jumped off his broom in his haste to confront the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Shove off, Flint, the pitch is ours this morning." Hermione heard Wood say, _almost_ politely.

"Not anymore, Wood," the large Slytherin sneered, with his compatriots laughing behind him.

Hermione caught the distinct cold, proud scent of Draco Malfoy before she saw him. He smelled more haughty than normal, if that was even possible. She also caught the scent of paint and what must have been the brand new brooms each member of the Slytherin team was carrying.

The rest of the Gryffindor team landed behind Wood and began arguing with their schoolmates. Hermione merely rolled her eyes, as accustomed as she was to the antics between the Slytherins and her own house. It was not until Malfoy stepped forward and said something about money and his father that Hermione snapped.

Holding back a snarl that she knew would give her away, she smirked, "So you need the pitch because you aren't actually _good_ , you just bought your way onto the team with your Father's money."

She could smell the fury coming off of him as soon as the words left her lips, she knew she had struck a nerve. She felt rather proud of her jab before he shot back at her.

"No matter how many friends you have, or how much money, you'll never been anything more than a stinking, half-breed mudblood."

Hermione didn't need to know the meaning of Malfoy's words to know that they were cruel. She had to bite back her tongue to stifle a growl, causing tears to come to her eyes. The boy in front of her reeked of disdain and superiority, but she did not have time to react before her fellow Gryffindors jumped in and attacked the Slytherins. There was chaos; Hermione's nose was overwhelmed with the scents of anger and fear and sweat. She saw Ron raise his broken wand out of the corner of her eye and tried to stop him, but she was too far away; too late. Whatever spell he had attempted to curse Malfoy with immediately backfired, hitting the red-head square in the chest.

Thinking quickly in front of the now roaring Slytherins, Hermione grabbed Harry and they escorted Ron away as quickly as possible. The poor boy wretched up slugs all afternoon; the scent of their slime overwhelming Hermione's nose. Hermione watched as Hagrid and Ron, with great effort, as he was still coughing up the slimy gastropods, explain to Harry about blood purity. Hermione was already very aware of the problem, having been well-read. She was unaware of the particular insult Malfoy had used earlier that day, but it was not hard to tell what the crude bully had meant by it. She had dirty blood; well, the joke was on him, not only was she muggle-born, but she wasn't even fully human.

The new moon following her arrival at Hogwarts was the worst Hermione had to endure so far. She was close to tears the entire day, and when she finally _did_ burst into tears when she was left without a partner in a simple Transfiguration exercise did MacGonagall excuse her from the rest of her classes for the day; something that irked her to the depths of her soul. She hoped the rest of her new moons didn't make her so emotionally distraught. She could feel Fen's concern, despite the fuzziness of the bond that was typical of the new moon. Hermione missed the large werewolf; she had been so busy with her classes that she hadn't let herself stop to think about how much she missed the semi-regular visits Fen would have with her.

The girl looked around her empty dorm room and whined with a measure of despondency. She was so _tired_ today. It didn't help that she _knew_ it was only due to the moon's magical influence on her, she still felt wretched. Her heart hurt and her head hurt and she wanted nothing more than to sleep until it was all over; but sleep was the one thing that eluded her all afternoon. She tossed and turned in her four-poster bed, nursing her aching heart, choking back even more tears the longer she was alone.

Hermione tried to concentrate on the good things; no one had noticed she had changed, no one saw the differences. She was trying to be proud of herself for how well she had done the past two weeks, but couldn't hold on to such thoughts for long enough for them to matter. She managed to drag herself out of her room for an early dinner in the Great Hall, just in time to avoid everyone else coming in to eat. She snuck back up to her room as stealthily as possible; she really did not have the energy to interact with any of her friends, and _especially_ not with the Slytherins.

She curled up in her bed quietly, pulling the curtains around her as she wrapped herself up in her blankets, willing herself to sleep before her roommates came up from dinner. It didn't work as well as she hoped it would, and she lay awake listening to the other girls chatted. Hermione tried to dull the sound to a dull murmur, and it worked once they began whispering to each other. Once her roommates fell asleep, Hermione concentrated on the bond with the back, feeling the fuzziness from the day slowly dissipate. As the bond came back into focus, Hermione's eyelids drooped sleepily and she fell, finally, into a blissfully restorative sleep.

 **A/N:** Sorry about the late chapter this week! Also, for those of you who have been asking, yes, _eventually_ , this will be a Fenir/Hermione romance, but there's going to be a lot of emphasis on eventually =)

Sorry for those who already read last night. There was an error and the email didn't go out.


	10. Worrying

_Wolves have often been the subject of much strife over the course of human history. They kill the sheep to fill their bellies, taking only what they need; but then, the story changes. The wolves are greedy, they slaughter without thought, without mercy, without sense. The wolf is turned from a clever hunter into a child-eating monster in no time. This is how wolves are thought of, and have been since the dawn of shepherds._

 _These thoughts can come to be far more accurate than those who perpetuate them even dreamed of. A cornered wolf is far more dangerous than one who fills its belly with the flock. The large, dangerous predators are just as afraid of the humans as the humans are of them, if not exceedingly so. A wolf knows it has no chance against a united force, even in a pack, the humans win. There is an imbalance of power; a curse of man upon the wolf, and there is nothing the animal can do to rectify this tragedy._

 _A wolf will hunt and play and care for its own. It will defend itself and those it cares for or lords over. Humans are the most dangerous enemy a wolf has to face, and it will face them from the side, from the back, and from the front, if they must. A wolf cannot win against the humans; not alone. They are called cowards and fiends just by evening out the score with a fair fight. The magic of wolves gives some balance to the curse brought upon them by man, but it never seems to be enough._

 _The wolves grow tired and hungry; there must be an escape._

* * *

 ** _Worrying_**

* * *

After the night of the new moon, everything seemed to get better. Hermione was vastly more cheerful, although the longing to be with the other werewolf never truly went away. She managed it as well as she could, given her circumstances, and she thought she was doing well. As the weeks went on, Hermione felt slightly more at ease with her friends and classmates; and as the full moon approached, she noticed a creeping sense of boldness that was outside of her usual tenacity. The week leading up to the full moon, she could hardly contain her excitement. She was going to see Fen again, and there was a growing sense of fevered titillation toward the rise of the moon itself. The young werewolf had the itching urge to run, to chase, it didn't matter what. She could hardly sit still at the one Quidditch practice she had attended; everything was moving and her eyes marked each motion as it happened. \

The day before the full moon, Hermione was ansty. She struggled to take her usually meticulous notes, and was distracted by nearly everything around her. Justin was sniffling today, and it was loud, despite him being so far across the greenhouse from her during Herbology. Any small critter that skittered around on the greenhouse floor caught her attention for longer than she wanted to admit. When the time finally came for classes to end, Hermione nearly skipped out. She dropped her bag in her dormitory and spent the rest of the day outdoors, walking near the lake, taking in the scents of everything around her, trying to keep herself calm until that evening.

Several hours later, the young witch made her way out to the dark forest, her keen hearing a great ally in ensuring she avoided any prying eyes along the way. She could not get caught. She was a little nervous about going into the forest, but sighting Fen's eyes glinting at her from just within the trees made her smile and forget her fears. She was home.

He gave her a happy grin that bordered on a smirk and asked her how she was.

"Classes are easier than I'd like, I don't have to pay as much attention as I should, and I get fidgety," she admitted. The other werewolf laughed and Hermione frowned; there was something different about him today. She couldn't quite put her finger on it until he turned to her with a wide grin.

"Your teeth!" she exclaimed, surprised. Indeed, the canines that had once been an inconspicuous length were now much longer and larger. They glinted in what little light was left from the setting sun.

Fen laughed heartily, revealing even more of his long teeth, "Wolf," he said simply.

Hermione ran her tongue over her own teeth as if to check them for the same issue. Finding everything to be in the way she left it, she frowned slightly. "Will I—?"

"Someday," he smirked at her, "Ready?"

Hermione nodded eagerly, she was absolutely ready for the full moon. She knew they had a while until then; her blood did not yet race wildly through her veins. She darted off, leaving the older werewolf to chase her further into the forest. She was so thrilled to have the wind race through her hair and the ground pound by underneath her feet. She felt so alive. Fen had been right when he had first spoken to her about the transformation; it was the worst pain the small girl could imagine, and then the most free she had ever felt. It was worth it.

As they ran, the small werewolf could feel the bond that tied her to the larger male who was hot on her trail. She had missed him. There were times when she swore she could feel the vague impressions of others somewhere down the trail that held her to the pack, but they were little more than cooling coals next to the glowing presence of the bond she had with Fen. She allowed her delight to sneak onto her face and could not keep herself from smiling and laughing as Fen played chase with her.

When they had finished their fun and Hermione could feel her body begin to ache at the presence of the moon coming up on the horizon, they stopped romping around and found a small clearing. Hermione took a deep breath, this was the hard part. The ache trailed slowly up her back and into her limbs, growing greater from the source the further it spread. She felt her heart begin to race and she knew her breathing was ragged. She managed one last glance at Fen, who gave her a sympathetic smile, before the pain grew too great and all she knew was the feverish cracking of her own bones.

The night had passed too quickly, and too soon Hermione found herself pulling on her clothes in the cold morning mist of the Forbidden Forest. She glanced up at Fen, who had his back to her. Her lip trembled slightly; the weeks ahead were not going to be easy, but now she'd been through them before. She would be fine.

She stood, making little noise on the forest floor. Fen turned at her movements and he met her eyes, his own icy irises filled with a measure of concern. Without waiting for an invitation, the girl threw her arms around him, clinging tightly to his middle.

"I'll miss you too, cub."

The young werewolf couldn't bear to let go of him and was grateful for his comforting hand wrapped around her shoulders. She took in the elder werewolf's scent, memorizing it once more. It was strong and comforting, like a summer's campfire. It was home.

Hermione closed her eyes and took one last deep breath of the Alpha's scent before she reluctantly pushed herself away from him. She looked up, wiping away the beginnings of tears in her eyes. She would _not_ cry. "I'll see you next month, Alpha?"

He gave her a small smile and a nod. "Stay safe, little one."

Then he was gone.

* * *

Hermione knew that Harry had been hearing voices in the walls. It was more than a little worrisome. Ron had said it wasn't normal for even wizards to be hearing voices. Hermione hadn't heard voices, but she could certainly hear other things that happened in the castle. Every gush of water through the pipes, the staircases grinding against each other or slamming to stops as they hit landings, her classmate's whispers. Sometimes she wished she were better at shutting it all out. If there was something for her to focus on, it was easier to keep the rest at bay, but she had not been so fortunate that night.

The trio had just left Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday party and Hermione was starving. Hopefully there was still some good food left in the Great Hall. The party had not been particularly pleasant; it had been noisy; ghosts in particular had a high-pitched hum about them that made Hermione shudder when more than one got close enough together. After some mingling, the three students quietly slipped out. It really was not the place for them. There was just too much death.

The three were chatting excitedly about the feast when Harry came to a sudden stop.

Hermione turned, watching the black-haired boy's eyes unfocus, like he was listening for something.

"Harry?" Ron called impatiently.

"Can't you hear it‽" Harry began to run, following whatever noise he was hearing. "It's the voice again!"

Hermione darted after him, immediately concerned. There was a noise the Harry was following, but it certainly wasn't a voice. It was just some water running up the pipes. It was a sound Hermione had heard often of late. It wasn't a big deal. As she followed Harry's frantic footsteps, she began to pick up a scent she didn't like. It was metallic and cold and _wrong_.

She nearly crashed into Harry at the top of a staircase. The witch skidded to a stop next to her friend, her eyes growing wide at the sight before them.

There was blood on the walls, horribly arranged into a single sentence:

" _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened; enemies of the heir, beware!_ "

Hermione tried not to gag as the scent overpowered her nose; opening her mouth only made the sensation worse. She could practically taste the blood on the walls; it was cold and afraid, but it wasn't human. She was certain of it, though she could not understand why, other than it smelled wrong.

"Hermione?"

She jumped, it was her turn to act strangely, she supposed. Both of her friends wore concerned looks. The girl looked around and realized she had stepped into the midst of the crime in order to better decipher the smells.

"It's not human," she said quietly.

"How can you tell?" The red-headed boy demanded, also moving closer to investigate.

Hermione froze for a moment, she hadn't thought her plan through well enough. "It's the color," she lied quickly. "It dried too light." She hoped they bought it; they did.

"Hmm, I don't see it, but I believe you, Hermione."

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry asked, still staring at the wall.

Ron responded with a shrug of his shoulders, "Dunno, Harry."

"Whatever it is, I don't think it's good news." Hermione said, another scent drifting toward her nose. Cat. She looked around a little before her gaze traveled straight upward, her eyes landing on a still form hanging above her head. "Is that…"

"Mrs. Norris!" The voice of a distraught Argus Filch made all three students jump. The caretaker loved that grumpy old tabby, and now it looked as though she was dead.

Hermione didn't think she was, the cat smelled strange, but not with the same stench of anything dead enough to be so stiff. She could not reveal what she knew, however, and instead took the bombardment from the caretaker.

"You've killed my cat!" he glared at her, "I always said you don' belong here!"

Hermione had a retort on the tip of her tongue when she was interrupted by McGonagall's sudden appearance. "Argus! What is going on?" The woman's eyes nearly bogged out of her head at the sight of the disaster on the wall. She turned pale and Hermione could smell the older woman's anxiety.

"These monsters have murdered my cat! I'll see they pay for this!"

"Nonsense, Argus, I'm quite certain they had nothing to do with this." The transfiguration professor's normally steady voice was quite shrill and upset. She turned to the three students, her face still ever so pale. "Go to you dormitory immediately!"

The three turned to leave, but it was too late. The Great Hall was emptying and students of all ages were filling up the corridor on the way to bed. Hermione should have known, she _had_ heard them, but was so preoccupied with not growling at Filch that she had ignored the sounds of chatter and footsteps.

She managed to only growl under her breath at Malfoy's unimaginative jab at her heritage. She really was beginning to hate the boy. If only he knew about her blood, her real blood. Fen said blood didn't matter, they were all werewolves, and Hermione quite liked that sentiment. She stopped her musings as Snape showed up in the corridor and loud arguing ensued.

The next thing she knew, she was being funnelled back to the common room, unable to find Harry or Ron. There was nothing to do but move forward, or get into greater trouble. Worried for her friends, the small werewolf sat in the common room until Harry and Ron came in, both looking rather pale. They weren't in trouble, but apparently the school was. Hermione resolved to find out what this Chamber of Secrets was, and why it made everyone so afraid.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for the late update, guys! My internet has been out for a frustratingly long amount of time. I have managed to upload this via my phone hotspot because it's just gotten that bad. Enjoy!


	11. Moans

_A wolf depends on secrecy. The moon is bright and known to all, but the wolf must apply an entirely different set of rules in order to remain safe. As in all things, balance is paramount. A wolf must have a family in order to thrive, but there can only be bonds of absolute trust within that pack. Trusting in the wrong sort will kill a wolf. As many wolves have learned throughout the ages; you can only trust another wolf, and even then, caution is necessary._

* * *

 **Moans**

* * *

Hermione was surprised at how easy it was to sneak into Snape's private storage closet and procure the ingredients she needed in order to brew the polyjuice potion. With Harry and Ron creating a distraction for her, she was in and out before anyone gave her any mind. In fact, sneaking around was something she seemed to be getting increasingly good at. She could hear _everything_. Anything nearby that might incriminate her as she regularly stole her way down to the first floor bathroom made far more noise than the young werewolf required to hear them coming. She was rarely surprised by classmates any longer, and it was a great comfort to her. There were times, however, often in the library, when she was neck-deep in her studies that she neglected her ears. Those incidents tended to startle her more than they had before.

The witch sat alone in Myrtle's currently silent bathroom. The ghost avoided her, Hermione had no sympathy for her whining and attempted to block out her noise out when she was around. It was not as easy as she wanted it to be. Today, however, she was seething quietly and did not revel in the odd silence that pervaded the bathroom. Malfoy. Harry insisted the boy was the killer, and Hermione was inclined to agree, however illogical the reasoning. She hated the way the arrogant brat smelled, and hated further how easily he got under her skin. If it was him, she had to know. There was little that would bring her more pleasure than to bring him down. He had been making fun of her for too long; and this year was different than the previous. She had taken wounds to her pride before, but this irrational, fearful attack on her heritage and her very existence set off more primal instincts. More than once, Hermione had swallowed a growl or bitten her tongue to avoid snarling at the boy and his friends.

So, she found herself brewing her polyjuice potion and growling under her breath, paying little attention to anything around her.

"You know, that's not a good sound, you should probably get that looked at."

The young werewolf jumped at the wispy voice of Moaning Myrtle in her left ear. She glared at the ghost, briefly considering if she could actually talk to the dead girl about her own problems.

"My voice is fine," the girl said finally, her growl not entirely gone.

Myrtle giggled and set herself next to Hermione, staring at the girl with narrowed eyes.

Hermione frowned as the flame beneath her cauldron flickered and turned blue, instantly raising the precise temperature of her potion to dangerous levels.

"Myrtle! You're going to ruin it! Go away!" Hermione snarled at the ghost.

Myrtle screeched at her, but moved back all the same.

Hermione's ears rang from the shrillness of the girl's wailings. "You're just like all the rest of them! Only you _won't leave_. Maybe I should ruin your potion. Then you would _go away!_ "

The young werewolf rubbed her ears. She stared up at the ghost, thinking that she may have been beginning to understand the dead girl. "I get teased too, Myrtle."

The ghost stopped her shrill wailing and frowned at Hermione.

Hermione took a breath, "I'm a muggleborn, too."

Myrtle continued to stare, though she remained silent, her transparent figure hovering near, but not near enough to disrupt Hermione's carefully tended flame.

"That's why this potion has to work. I have to figure out who is petrifying everyone before it's too late, and someone else dies," Hermione admitted to the ghost.

"Maybe you, like me," Myrtle said quietly, settling herself on the stone as much as her spirit form allowed.

Hermione nodded solemnly.

"Well," the ghost said, somewhat more cheerful than she had been moments before. "That still doesn't explain that absolutely _awful_ noise you were making a few minutes ago."

"I can't tell you, Myrtle." Hermione said plainly, trying to concentrate on the potion book, though she had finished everything she had needed to do for the day.

"I'll scream every time you come down here. For hours and hours."

Hermione's ears panged just thinking about the ghost's shrill cries echoing through the bathroom for the next three weeks. "I'll tell you, but you can't tell anyone, Myrtle. I mean it."

"Who _exactly_ am I going to tell, Granger? Hmm?"

"You can't tell Peeves. I know you talk to him and the other ghosts. They can't know."

"I've kept your little potion secret, haven't I?" The ghost responded with, clearly losing her patience.

She was right. So far Myrtle had kept silent about the potion, and perhaps that truly was the larger secret. It was not long before Hermione found herself telling Myrtle everything.

"You know, there was a boy who was a werewolf. He came here years ago. He was always so sad. It's been so long, I only remember him because he nearly got sick on my toilet! He looked so wretched. A gangly thing; not at all like you."

Hermione stared at the ghost, she hadn't realized another werewolf had gone to the school before her. She was under the impression it was impossible to get into Hogwarts as a werewolf. "Myrtle? Do you remember who he was?"

The ghost shrugged, "Not really. I never heard his name. He had a bunch of friends. They were all very rude to me."

Hermione frowned, "I'm sorry, Myrtle. He doesn't sound like the kind of werewolf I'd want to know."

The ghost nodded and quieted down.

After that day, Hermione no longer had to put up with the spirit's wailings and instead found a quiet confidant in the mournful ghost.

* * *

Hermione could feel the moon rising. Her blood ran hot and she grew increasingly excited as the day went on. The moment she was able to slip out of classes, she darted out of the castle. It was early enough in the afternoon that she had no concerns about being seen by anyone. In fact, she stopped by the Quidditch Pitch to watch the Gryffindor team practice for a short time. When the sun began to set and curfew was nearing, she mentioned to a concerned Harry and Ron that she had forgotten her Herbology notes in the greenhouse that day and was going to retrieve them before heading to bed. They argued with her, but she managed to convince them to let her slip off on her own.

Once she had escaped the boys' vision, she headed quietly toward the Forbidden Forest. Fen met her behind the edge of the treeline, matching her wide grin.

That night was different for the pair of werewolves. Fen had challenged her to silence, and so, they hunted without speaking. It was a strange shift for Hermione at first, but as the night went on, she began to realize that while Fen did not seem to mind listening to her, he really did not prefer to speak himself. The most she had ever heard him speak was the morning she had met him, when he patiently explained Hermione's situation to her and her parents. Now that there was no more need for words, he was teaching her without them.

Learning through observation rather than absorbing knowledge directly was hard for the girl. She had always been best at learning through books. The larger werewolf was extremely patient, however, and only appeared to become irritated when she threatened to break her silence. Slowly, she began to pick up the werewolf's body language. She didn't _feel_ like she was getting any better, but Fen's pleased rumbles encouraged her to continue to try. She was not going to give him any less than her best.

Reading him, it turned out, was exceptionally easier once they had shifted. It hurt marginally less each time, but the pain was as blinding as ever when the change began to wash over her. She knew she was screaming, and had no power to stop the sounds that came pouring from her throat.

Once it was over, spurned on by the Alpha, the young wolf stood shakily. She stumbled over to the adult wolf and nuzzled him as best she could, given her wobbly limbs. The moment she had regained her footing, the two set off on a happy hunt. Unfortunately, the creatures in the forest on that particular November night were incredibly skittish, and the werewolves saw neither hide nor hare of anything worth eating. Hermione eventually fell asleep next to the larger wolf, hungry, but with a satisfied spirit.

* * *

The next morning, the girl awoke only to be immediately and silently hushed by the male. She followed his gaze and was glad he'd placed a firm hand over her mouth, for she nearly gasped.

Not far from the pair was a large doe, grazing peacefully and completely oblivious to their presence. Hermione eyed the larger werewolf, who gave her a small grin. He snuck off, completely silent in the calm of the frigid morning air. Hermione waited, hoping she understood his plan. She gave him one minute, and then another. When she was certain she stood, ignoring the morning chill on her skin. In one smooth motion, she darted toward the deer, startling the large animal out of its morning reverie and right into the path of the waiting adult werewolf. Hermione watched as Fen lept from his hiding place, knocking the shocked animal to the ground in one motion.

Still running almost entirely on instincts, the girl darted toward the struggling pair. As she reached the animal herself, pouncing on it with what little force she possessed, she realized it had already stopped moving. She glanced at the other werewolf, who shot her a smirk, blood pouring down his chin.

Conventional wisdom might have told Hermione to be afraid, or disgusted, but she felt none of that in the moment. In reality, she was just hungry. She wanted to sink her small teeth into any part of the animal she could find, but something held her back. She gave her Alpha a curious stare, hoping he might enlighten her.

Fen returned her stare with a knowing grin, and nodded for her to come join him. As eagerly as she did any assignment, she slid from her perch on the warm deer's side and down next to the other werewolf. He had opened up a section of the animal's neck with his teeth and was nodding toward it in invitation. Her eyes brightened and she shrunk under him slightly as she maneuvered toward the neck of the dead animal. She gave Fen one more questioning look; she wasn't certain why she was so hesitant to proceed without his approval, but she was too wrapped up in what she was feeling to care about _why_ she was feeling it.

Fen chuckled and gave her an encouraging nod in response, and the young werewolf dug in without a second thought. The hot blood of the freshly dead deer streamed down the girl's chin and left her skin sticky and stained, but she paid it no mind. She tore into the tender flesh, letting her throat rumble happily as her hunger was sated.

She only glanced up at the sound of soft, padded footsteps, immediately throwing herself into an aggressive posture when a pack of wolves slowly approached them from the other side of the clearing. Fen gave no more indication that he had even noticed than a soft warning growl. Hermione watched them interact. The forest wolves immediately submitted to Fen's growling, and sat quietly, patient. Each of them licking their muzzles in anticipation as the large werewolf ate. Hermione eyed the Alpha, who seemed entirely unconcerned at the wolves' presence. They didn't smell hostile, and if Fen was going to allow them to be there, she probably ought to not worry. Curling her lip slightly at the newcomers, the girl went back to her meal. Her conscious mind wasn't certain what was going on, but she instead let her instincts guide her.

She was the first to find her fill, and backed away from the carcass, but still the other wolves waited, ignoring her. As her mind slowly returned, it made sense that she meant nothing to them, she was a child, and was obviously not in charge.

A few minutes later, Fen was finished as well. It was only when he backed away did the forest wolves dart forward, biting and snapping at one another for the remaining pieces of the carcass. She watched them with fascination, only driven out of her observation by Fen's hearty laugh.

She stared at him with wide eyes, confused at the subject of his laughter. He seemed to be genuinely amused at _her_.

He continued to chortle, and eventually gathered himself enough to speak, "You're a mess, pup."

She frowned at him, the larger werewolf had blood streaks down his face and across his arms and shoulders. Surely, she was no worse off than he. Taking a single look at herself, she realised she was wrong. If Fen was dirty, she was a disaster. Blood coated her arms, legs and torso, like a child after their first birthday cake. She could barely see her own skin underneath the layers of red. She licked her lips apprehensively.

Fen laughed again, "The lake isn't far from here, little one. I'll go get your clothes."

Hermione nodded and stood, the chilly air beginning to seep into her skin. She ran to the lake, knowing it was going to be freezing. She made quick work of her bloodstained body, scrubbing the red from her form before it could dry completely. Fen was back with her clothes before she was finished, and he sat with his back to her on the shore, patiently waiting. As quickly as she could, she scrambled out of the freezing water and threw on her clothes, shivering violently.

Fen turned when she was decent once more; he chortled again and took out a beautifully carved wand. He ran what she assumed was a drying charm over her, though she wasn't certain. The mutterings she caught were most certainly not based in the same Latin she knew. In any case, she was now dry, though slightly chilled, and seemed to worse for wear.

"Why couldn't you have just used a cleaning charm?" She braved cheekily.

Fen laughed again, "It's good for you, pup."

Hermione pursed her lips at the older werewolf. Her parents used to tell her similar tales when they asked her to do something she did not want to. Perhaps they were right.

Fen walked her to the edge of the forest and said goodbye. "Stay out of trouble, little one."

Hermione nodded earnestly and happily trotted off, her stomach full and the ache in her heart gone.


	12. Longing

_Different forces have often worked together in order to achieve goals that align in some manner or another. The sun and moon together light the world, though both function in extremely different manners, both with their own unique magics. As it is with many forces, large and small. Some of these alliances are unexpected and welcome; while there are others that are foreseen and unwanted. Whatever the case, many such relationships are beneficial for both parties involved. However, one must be cautious, as one side may receive more advantages than the other._

 _Discretion is always warranted._

* * *

 **Longing**

* * *

Hermione has successfully snuck back into the castle and was on her way back up to her dormitory when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Thinking quickly, she dove into an empty classroom, closing the door silently behind her. She held her breath as the footsteps passed by her. There were two of them, whoever they were. She stayed in the room until she she could no longer hear the footsteps. After another moment she stepped carefully into the hallway. She had taken no more than three steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She held back a startled yelp and turned to face the person who had grabbed her, only to be met with the grinning, freckled face of Fred Weasley. Her eyes widened, but she knew the troublemakers would not turn her in for being out too early.

"Why, if it isn't our intrepid Hermione!" The older boy said.

Hermione was immediately suspicious, they were clearly up to something. The young werewolf had the feeling that it had something to do with her.

"What do you suppose she's been up to, Fred?" George flanked her with an equally suspicious grin.

"Dunno, George," Fred sent her a wicked grin. "I get the feeling she's been _oooout_." The emphasis and drawn out vowels that the redhead put into his words was unmistakably a mimicked howl.

Hermione froze, her feet stuck to the floor. She felt the blood drain from her limbs in horror. They couldn't know. They smelled like they knew; she stared at the grinning pair with wide eyes.

"Don't look so surprised, 'Mione. We know a lot of things."

The young werewolf took a deep, calming breath. They didn't seem to be hostile in either their demeanor or scent. Before being bitten, Hermione had been a stickler for the rules, and tended to step on Fred and George's fun, and she was afraid it had come back to haunt her.

"First of all, how to sneak out of the castle without being noticed," Fred said with a wry grin.

"Considering what you've been up to lately, we thought it might come in handy for you."

The girl found her voice again, but couldn't help the growl in her throat, "What do you want for it?"

The twins were never going to give up something so precious for free. They wanted _something_.

"Oh, I'm sure you can give us a favor someday."

Hermione curled her lip at the older boys, but she was close to agreeing. She really did not have any excuse to not aid them in rule breaking now that she was breaking them regularly herself, no matter her reasons. "You'd give that away just for a favor?"

"Or two," one of the twins grinned at her.

Hermione sighed, she knew she would need the help. She really ought to have thought of it earlier, but she had been so caught up in making certain the Polyjuice potion was made perfectly that she had neglected her own needs. They now had enough dirt on each other that neither could give the other away without incriminating themselves.

Hermione nodded at the pair, "How do I get out?"

The pair led her to a tapestry on the second floor corridor. When lifted, there was nothing but wall behind it, making Hermione frown. Giving the space a sniff, she smelled more than just the same stone that pervaded the rest of the hall.

George gestured to the middle space, "It's just charmed."

Hermione frowned at the wall again, but walked toward it. She took a hesitant step toward the wall, meeting none of the resistance one would expect from a hard stone wall. Instead she stepped through a material that felt strangely like a liquid, it was cool and unpleasant on her skin, but when she came out on the other side, she found herself in a dark hallway with a slight breeze blowing fresh, outside air through her hair. This was her way out.

* * *

It was Christmas. The potion was finally ready. Hermione had used her new secret passage to get in and out of the castle during the last full moon, and it was so much less stressful with the new addition to her routine. There was also more of a sense of comradery between her and the Weasley twins. They were far friendlier to her than they had been in the past. Finally, she had someone that she wasn't afraid of who wasn't a ghost. She wasn't truly _afraid_ of Harry and Ron, but she was afraid they would find out she was a werewolf and would hate her for it. She _knew_ it was an irrational fear, but she had not managed to overcome it yet. Compared to brewing polyjuice potion, being a werewolf ought to be small on the scale of things to worry about.

Hermione had gotten everything they needed. She doled out the potion and they added the respective hairs. Myrtle was hovering around the trio, giggling slightly. Hermione ignored her for the moment; the dead girl often giggled at nothing.

Hermione _hated_ the smell of the potion, and it only grew worse when the tree added their respective hairs. The girl gagged at the smell that overpowered her sensitive nose. Everything smelled absolutely foul, and Hermione felt dizzy. Before she could think better of it, she drank as much of the potion as she could choke down, almost immediately gagging the odorus concoction back up. She continued to heave and darted for one of the toilets, not caring what her friends were up to any longer.

She felt the familiar sensation of her bones contorting and immediately began to panic, fur sprouted along her arms and she could feel it itching under her robes. She hadn't read anything about adverse effects with polyjuice potion on werewolves; but it couldn't be making her transform, it _couldn't_. Her breath heaved as she attempted to calm herself. After a moment, she realized that the pain that always accompanied the full moon was completely absent. Finally able to clear her head, she took a long look at herself and groaned when she saw her fur was not the soft brown she expected, but instead a dark, striped grey. Her hands curled into strange claws as she realized she was still standing on her feet. She could hear the boys talking, but wasn't registering what they were saying. She was so uncomfortable, she couldn't even begin to describe how _wrong_ the whole thing felt.

The girl wrinkled her nose at the smell that met her; she smelled like a _cat_ ; an unfortunate fact that lined up with everything else she had observed so far. She didn't hate cats, in fact, she quite liked them, but _she_ wasn't a cat, and everything in her wolf-like nature was bristling against her body.

Close to tears and even closer to letting out the growl she had so carefully been controlling, Hermione sent Harry and Ron on ahead of her. Once she was certain they were out of earshot, she let out a pained whine. She stared at Myrtle, who was giving her a grin that was only mildly sympathetic.

Not in the mood for talking, Hermione send an upset growl at the ghost before trudging down to the hospital wing. She had a hard time grabbing the door with those stupid claws that she couldn't seem to control, but eventually she made it into the hospital without anyone noticing her.

"Miss Granger, what on earth have you done to yourself?!" Madame Pomfrey's shrill voice finally set loose the tears that the girl had been holding back.

The healer sighed, "Nevermind. Find yourself a bed, girl. We'll get you fixed up."

Hermione spent the new moon in the hospital wing, her heart aching and so uncomfortable in her own skin that she cried, pulling her temporary tail around herself. She wondered what Fen was doing, and couldn't help feeling neglected by the pack. She knew why they were so far away, and she didn't expect any of them to come help her; not when it would mean exposure and expulsion. She knew once the new moon had passed, she would start to feel better, but for now she was miserable.

* * *

Fenrir had woken out of a dead sleep; feeling the girl's panic through their inexplicably strong bond. He was on his feet before he was awake enough to realize her fear had passed and her emotions were once again settling in the back of his conscious, but he was more aware of them than normal. He was concerned about how absolutely panicked she was, despite how quickly it had gone away. He groaned, knowing he was unlikely to sleep well until she calmed. The werewolf rubbed his eyes and made his way out of his hut, ignoring the frigid winter air on his skin. The pack was quiet tonight; the new moon was only a day away and there was always a hush that fell over everyone as those dreaded hours drew closer.

Fenrir's thoughts went back to the girl so very far away, where he had left her two weeks prior. Before her, he had finally come to grips with the new moon; he had managed to function even through the exhaustion that the lack of magic provided. Every new moon that passed since he had bitten her seemed so much longer than the last. The urge to find her and make certain she was fine when the bond dulled and he could no longer feel her clearly grew stronger every month. He could still feel her, the moon's power not yet showing through. As the hours of the night went on, he felt her slowly fade into a quiet despair. Something had happened to her that made her feel worse than normal.

The large werewolf took off at a comfortable run, climbing up the steep sides of the fjord to end up looking out over the sea as the sun came up behind him. He stared out over the sea, knowing at the end of his gaze, lay a small, scared werewolf, so far across the water. He growled softly when he heard soft footsteps behind him sometime later.

"Geira sent me, Alpha."

A female voice greeted him.

Fenrir turned and nodded at the teenage girl; she was Andor's daughter and Geira often employed her as a second pair of legs. She was holding a large coat in addition to the one she was wearing. The Alpha sighed and nearly rolled his eyes; it wasn't the girl's fault. He took the coat off her hands and slung it over his shoulders. He had been enjoying the cold, but perhaps the elder was right to send someone to him.

"Is there really another girl in the pack, Alpha?"

"Yes, Ylva," Fenrir replied quietly, his thoughts still stuck on the girl in question.

"What is she like? When will we get to meet her?"

Fenrir chuckled quietly, he wasn't particularly in the mood to talk, but Ylva was always so earnest, asking more questions than she knew she ought to. "Someday, you'll see. She is going to wizarding school."

"But can't she learn magic here?"

"It's not the same, pup," Fenrir said quietly, wishing the same thing the girl had been saying. It was still as frustrating as ever, but he managed to keep a lid on his temper when he needed it, which was more often of late.

"You're sad, Alpha. You miss her," she observed, earning herself a sharp growl from the older werewolf.

Ylva had always been perceptive with her nose, but she had not yet learned when to keep her mouth shut. Rather like her father, Fenrir observed with amusement. There was a reason Andor was his Beta. He did miss the girl, and he hated the feeling of longing that lingered so acutely whenever she was not around. Shaking his head, the large werewolf frowned slightly.

"Geira didn't send you just to make sure I was warm, did she, pup?" He had smelled her nerves the moment she came close. There was something going on, and Fenrir got the feeling he was not going to like it, a feeling that was realized the moment the girl opened her mouth once more.

Ylva shook her head, her bright blue eyes widening. "Ingrid is here."


	13. Packs

_Despite every effort, eventually, a child must grow. There are no certainties that a young wolf will be protected from every threat. The more a cub knows of the dangers of their world, the more they shall overcome those dangers and come out unscathed on the other side. There are few things that are dangerous to wolves: sickness, famine, humans; there is also the danger that no wolf likes to admit to a cub: other wolves. Such a revelation can cause a fear of outsiders and strangers that may very well keep a cub alive._

 _As a cub grows, so do the instincts and abilities that sense both dangers and anomalies. Not all anomalous scents are to be feared; some will lead to a new kind of prey, a good meal, or something yet unspoken between a pair of wolves. Yet others are those that should send a cub darting for the safety of home, but they cannot know the difference without training._

 _Just as children, wolves must be allowed to grow._

* * *

 **Packs**

* * *

Hermione noticed a distinct difference in the Alpha werewolf the next time she saw him. His jaw was tight, and though he hid it well, could not entirely mask the scent of frustration that lingered when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She wondered immediately what had happened and was determined to find out throughout the course of the evening.

Fen's grasp on the small witch was strong and unyielding the moment she was in his arms. She curled into his hold, merely glad to see him. After a moment she noticed a faint scent on the larger werewolf that immediately set her on edge, though she could not pinpoint why. After a few more sniffs and some further deliberation, Hermione decided that it was another female. A strong one.

* * *

Fenrir froze the moment the girl in his arms let out a quiet growl. He was certain she wasn't doing it on purpose, but there was no doubt she could smell the other werewolf on him. That being said, he was surprised at the vehemence at which the girl seemed to bristle at the scent.

"Who is she?" the girl growled, frowning up at him with dark eyes.

Fenrir sighed quietly, a small grin on his lips. He was certain his little pup was all ready to fight the other Alpha female despite her obvious disadvantages. Her little Alpha instincts were kicking in already. His mind quickly cycled through the last two weeks or frustration as he attempted to decide what to tell the smaller werewolf.

* * *

 _Fenrir snarled at the new werewolf in the midst of their small village. Ingrid had only arrived hours prior and was already ordering everyone around like it was_ her _pack. The werewolf eyed him without any hesitance or wariness; she was here because she wanted something._

" _Why are you here?" He growled, knowing he was very unlikely to receive an answer straightaway. He stiffened when she moved toward him, her hips swaying slightly._

" _Why am I ever here, Greyback?"_

 _Fenrir growled when the woman practically draped herself over his shoulders. He only acknowledged her touch for long enough to forcefully flick her hand from his chest. "My answer is the same as it always is. No," he snarled._

 _The woman only laughed before settling herself across from him, acting as though he had not just refused her once more. Cool, as always._

 _Fenrir set his jaw as she began to speak._

" _You know my pack is struggling, Fenrir. Joining our packs together will make them both stronger," she began._

 _It was Fenrir's turn to laugh, "My pack needs nothing from yours. You're welcome to stay, Ingrid Quisling," the werewolf flinched at his use of her name, "but you will not leave with what you want."_

 _The other werewolf growled, "That is not my name, Greyback."_

 _Fenrir smirked mirthlessly, "It is, and will continue to be until you earn a new one."_

" _We were on the same side, once," she growled at him._

 _Fenrir continued to grin at her. It frustrated her that she had no power over him no matter how much she tried. He knew she would not give up; she never did, but he had to find some entertainment in her being there or she would drive him mad._

" _Once. It's the reason you are allowed to come and go with your head still attached."_

 _She didn't speak to him for nearly a day after their first conversation, much to Fenrir's pleasure. He wouldn't deny she was attractive, but looking at her made his stomach churn._

* * *

"Alpha? Are you okay?"

The girl's insistent growl brought Fenrir back to the present.

"I'm fine, pup."

She still looked concerned and he could smell her growing irritation. She needed to know; so, despite his reluctance to fill her in on the less pleasant parts of pack politics, he told her.

"Her name is Ingrid," he told the cub quietly. "There is another pack across the border and their Alpha is...determined to join our packs together."

"I don't like the way she smells."

Fenrir laughed at her candidness, "Neither do I, pup. Her pack has not been doing well lately, and she thinks joining ours will fix her problems."

The girl quieted, but continued to stare, expecting him to continue.

"Loyalty is very important, especially for a werewolf. Do you understand?"

The small werewolf nodded, her face as serious as he had ever seen it.

"If you give it, you must respect that choice. As Alpha, if I make a promise, I must keep it. If I died, and someone else became Alpha, they must also keep that promise," Fenrir could not keep the growl out of his voice as he spoke.

"What happens if they don't?"

Fenrir took a breath to calm himself, "That depends. You're very young yet, pup."

She immediately opened her mouth, and Fenrir growled sharply before she could manage to retort. The girl was fiery, and became moreso every passing month. It was a quality that would serve her well someday.

"If you were with the pack you would know already. There is more to being a wolf than you know." Fenrir ran a hand through his hair, he'd never actually had to explain this before. "Wolves have mates," he said simply.

The girl nodded, a frown on her face, "I remember learning in primary school that wolves mate for life; it makes sense that we are the same."

"Most animals choose their mates, pup. We don't," Fenrir said, hoping he wouldn't trigger a storm. Most new werewolves did not enjoy that part of the story.

Instead, the girl frowned once more, it was not a frown of irritation but rather of contemplation. "So, is Ingrid your mate?"

The harsh snort that came out of Fenrir startled the girl. "No, little one. Ingrid is a self-serving dog who doesn't have a mate because she won't keep her promises."

"You hate her."

* * *

" _Alpha, why do you hate her?" Ylva came to him later that night, her eyes wide._

 _Fenrir chuckled quietly, it was time for her to learn. "In a few weeks you will go with your Father to guard the herds for the spring, yes?"_

 _Ylva's posture straightened and she nodded eagerly, "It's my first time! We have to guard them every year."_

" _Do you know why?"_

" _The elders will give us enough food to get us through the winter if hunting is bad, and we keep their animals safe from the other predators."_

 _Fenrir nodded once again, "That is true. Do you know what happens if we don't?"_

" _Father says we'll be cursed."_

 _Fenrir nodded, "It's been passed down for thousands of years. We have to honor it, or the pack will die. Slowly, but it will happen."_

" _It is good for us to honor it. It's healthy."_

" _It is. There are some packs who will not. They reject the old ways as superstition and fairy tale, and they suffer for it."_

* * *

Fenrir told the girl almost exactly what he had explained to Ylva several days prior, ending with the same answer to a similar question.

"I hate her because she doesn't seem to care that her pack is cursed, and that joining with ours will likely curse us too."

"And then we won't have mates?" The girl's eyes widened with sorrow.

"No mates, no pups, and eventually, no food," Fenrir said quietly. "Don't worry, pup. I won't let that happen," he reassured her softly.

The smaller werewolf nodded, she grumbled slightly about something seemingly unrelated, but Fenrir couldn't quite decipher the words.

"What was that, little one?"

"Why do you let her touch you so much?" She repeated, growling quietly.

Fenrir gave her a strange look, there was something more to this than simple Alpha instincts. A hint of jealousy wafted off the girl, making Fenrir grin to himself. It seemed the girl thought more of him than she ought to.

"Does that bother you?"

The girl nodded, still frowning deeply. Her scent was one of confusion now, though the sharp twinge of envy was still present.

Fenrir smiled slightly in spite of himself. He frowned slightly, noticing the long-furred tail that the girl had cradled in her lap. He cocked his head in confusion, and amusement. "You have a tail, little one."

She pouted, "It's not my fault, Alpha. I didn't know!"

He laughed heartily, enjoying the new lightness of their conversation, "What did you do?"

"It was polyjuice potion. She always smelled like cats, I couldn't tell the difference between her hair and theirs," She whined slightly.

Fenrir continued to laugh, every time he caught sight of her tail he began to laugh once more. He chortled quietly while she pouted at him. She was so very endearing, and he had missed her, especially with Ingrid around to fuel his temper. He had been so irritable, and now he was calm once again.

At least, until the moon began ascending over the horizon. The large werewolf grinned.

"Ready, pup?"

* * *

Hermione nodded eagerly. She was always ready for the full moon. She was still processing everything Fen had told her. She was curious to know more about mates and the pack and the other things she was certain she did not know about her own kind. She had been surprised at her own reaction at Ingrid's scent on the older werewolf. She did not like it at all, and she felt as though there was something more to it than the reasons Fen had explained to her. She could not pinpoint why exactly she was so upset about it. Fen had teased her about being jealous and that of course was part of it, she had been jealous. Which was silly of her; not only was she far too young, but she would find her mate one day and forget about these school-girl feelings.

As the pair walked, Hermione continued to stare up at the larger werewolf. She had so many questions yet, but Fen had already done more talking than he normally liked to and she didn't want to irritate him. Not long into their walk, Fen sighed.

"What, pup? I can practically hear you thinking," he said, a grin on his face.

"How will I know who my mate is?" She asked quietly.

"I hear it's different for everyone; but you'll probably use your nose," the werewolf turned to boop her gently on the aforementioned facial feature.

"Do you have a mate?" She braved, hoping he would not get angry at her for asking something so personal.

"Somewhere, I like to think," he said, quietly.

Hermione took in the other werewolf's sudden change in demeanor. He seemed sad, if only for a moment or two. She wasn't certain how old the man was, but she hadn't expected him to be unattached, especially after how kind he had been to her. It further spoke to her that he had to be telling the truth about mates. He didn't seem to want to be alone. She frowned up at him, concerned, when he sent her a sad smile.

"What if I never meet mine?" Hermione asked quietly. If Fen hadn't met his mate yet, maybe some werewolves just never found theirs.

Fen laughed quietly, dispelling the lingering smell of loneliness that had settled over the larger werewolf, he obviously had seen through her attempt to disguise her question, "I'm not dead, little one. You'll meet your mate one day."

Hermione watched the werewolf sigh and smile slightly.

"And, I suppose, so will I."

The young witch nodded. She wasn't certain how finding a mate worked, but she was certain Fen would find his. She knew he cared too much about the pack for whatever moon-given magic decided their destinies to ignore the loneliness the Alpha werewolf did not bother to hide from her.


	14. Acting

_Any wolf knows that it cannot wander into town without causing a panic. Once a wolf sets foot among the humans, no matter the animal's intention, it cannot be trusted. Therefore, anything a wolf must accomplish around any number of humans must be done in absolute secrecy. For all the human's talks of the old days of witch-hunts, the wolves do not need to pass down stories of wolf-hunts to their children. The cubs are in just as much danger from the ravenous vengence that the humans exert as their forebears were. The moon changes a wolf; even a small wolf is stronger, faster, and better equipped to deal with the challenges of life than most humans. One wolf may be a lone wanderer in their eyes; something to be overlooked or forgiven. Two will cause alarm. A packful, however, will cause immediate panic._

 _Wolves eat children, or haven't you heard?_

* * *

 **Acting**

* * *

Fenrir rubbed his forehead, trying to decide the best course of action; he was tired. That morning, his bright, bushy-haired girl had explained to him her growing fears about whatever creature had been attacking the students. Of course, that was only after he had pushed her into revealing it. He could smell her nerves, and that was enough to worry him. Students petrified, the staff running scared; there was something wrong within that castle and everyone knew it. He could smell the fear on her; fear that was not entirely her own.

The adult werewolf knew the scent of fear well; it could be tantalizing and exciting, but that kind of fear and the fear he smelled on the cub were entirely different breeds of the instinctual emotion. It was a cold, clammy fear. It lingered and hung over people; it was not a fear that touched animals in the same manner. It was dread; a scent that could sting even human noses when it was strong enough. He did not like letting her go back to the castle that morning. He could not protect her there; not from whatever this dark magic was. He also knew she needed to learn to defend herself and interact with wizards in a way very few in the pack had learned before. If they were ever going to have true rights outside of Scandinavia, they needed someone the humans trusted. He hated that he had ulterior motives for keeping her in school, but he also knew she wanted to stay.

The girl loved to learn, and he could see it in her eyes and smell the excitement all over her when she told him what she was learning about in school. Fenrir had always been drawn to her, but he had grown to adore her even further in the time he had known her. She was clever and fierce and was going to serve the pack well and be served in return. He had watched her happily trot back to the castle after the last full moon with a sad smile and a heavy heart.

When he returned to the village several hours later, he tried to acknowledge those who greeted him as he passed, but he struggled to do much more than nod slightly to his pack. He was trying to devise a way to keep their youngest member safe, and it was looking more and more impossible. He knew several of the more perceptive members of the pack were giving him concerned glances; he knew they could smell his frustration. That was something he had never been able to hide.

He blamed the humans for the stress they were unknowingly causing on his pack. He snarled quietly just at the thought of them. Everything always came back to the humans. He hated them. They had taken Karen away from Andor...they had taken Remus too far to nurture...They had— The large werewolf growled where he stood; he was not going to think about that. He could not let them take _her_ too; not from ignorance and not from prejudice. And yet, they already were putting her in danger. It tore at every part of him that he could not simply rescue her from the humans' inept clutches. If they tore into Hogwarts, not only would it give her away, but there would most certainly be a repeat of the wolf-hunts that haunted his memories. If it happened again, however, he was not certain anyone would make it out alive. No. Anything they did had to be done in secret.

As Fenrir neared his own hut at the end of the village, a slight movement on the edge of his vision caught his eye. He stopped, turning to look at the doorway to Geira's hut. The old woman was merely watching him, surrounded by a ring of light emitting from her cheerful fire. Sighing slightly, he switched directions and walked toward her. He did not meet her eyes, and she did not ask him to.

They spoke no words until Geira had placed a hot mug of tea in Fenrir's hands. Fenrir stared into the steaming liquid, unable to shake the concern he had felt since that morning.

"What can we do, Alpha?" Geira finally said in their native tongue.

Fenrir was taken aback, Geira had never asked him for advice. He may have been Alpha, but she was the wisest of them all. He did not feel like the leader he knew he was supposed to be; he had been a boy the last time he'd been forced to choose between the pack as a whole and one member he knew he loved.

"Nothing, Mamma," he replied, his voice shaking slightly. He could feel her frown on him; his mother had died the night he and his brother were bitten, ever so long ago. Geira had taken them in as teenagers, but they had risen so quickly through pack ranks that she refused to let them use the moniker after only a few months. He knew it was to protect both her safety and their security, but he still thought of her as the woman she was when she took them in.

"I did not let you call me that as a boy, and you won't start now, Fenrir Greyback," she scolded quietly, though he knew she was smiling. "Jormun's death wasn't your fault," she said seriously.

Fenrir shook his head angrily, "Then it was the humans', and I've placed her in the same amount of danger!" He was trying to come up with some way they could help; she was part of his pack as much as the rest, and he could not abandon her. The only way they could figure out what was going on inside that fortress of a school would be to send someone in. "There's no one we can send with enough secrecy that they won't figure out who we are."

He heard the door open behind him and caught the familiar scent of Andor. The man smelled sober, and a little afraid. He walked into the hut and sat down across from Fenrir.

"Forgive my intrusion, Elder," he apologized quietly.

Geira nodded graciously and went about fixing more tea like she often did. Fenrir surveyed his Beta for several moments, as the man seemed to be trying to gather the courage to speak. He had never shown hesitation before when he had an idea, and his ideas were usually good ones. There was something more personal in this than Fenrir could sense by just observing. Giving up for the moment, Fenrir focused on his tea until the other man finally spoke."

"Alpha, we can send Ylva."

Fenrir's eyes flew up and met the serious face of his friend and second. He could hear the pain in his voice as the words rolled off his tongue.

"No," Fenrir said, "I will not risk putting her in harm's' way."

"She's the only one we can send. Everyone else is too old," Andor whined. He clearly did not like the option any more than Fenrir did. "If she's as important to our future as you say—"

"I know," Fenrir growled. He did not want to send the only family Andor had left into a place where she was not going to be safe. He shook his head, Andor was right. Geira was right; they had to do something. He just hated that in involved sending another cub into a castle full of humans. "I know she'd go if I asked."

Fenrir ran a hand through his hair, "I don't like it, Andor. I will not send her unless we have no other choice."

* * *

Ylva steeled herself as they entered the village of Hogsmeade. She had been eager to help; to join the other member of their pack at the wizarding school. She knew her father and Fenrir had both been reluctant to let her go. She knew it was dangerous where she was going, but it wasn't the danger that had set off her nerves. The girl had never before been so far from home. She knew very little of life outside the pack, and had never truly interacted with humans before, not ones who did not know who she was, anyway. She gave her father a nervous glance, but returned his assuring smile. He could not hide his fearful scent from her, but she was determined to do well. She was going to be brave.

They walked up to the gates of the castle and were greeted by an older witch with stern lips and tight, greying hair.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Vollan, Miss Vollan. I am Professor McGonagall. Just as a final warning to you, we've had quite a bit of trouble these last few months with an unknown entity attacking our students. I would once again advise you to keep your daughter at home until they can be resolved."

"Thank you for your honesty, McGonagall. Unfortunately, we have reached a point where Ylva can no longer stay at home to learn. We just cannot afford the tutoring any longer."

Ylva watched as her father lied with ease to the human before them.

"I understand. In any case, we are glad you have chosen to bring her here. I am sure she will make some fast friends. Now, before you can be given a room, you must be sorted into a house. Come up to the castle and we shall begin."

Ylva followed silently, taking in all the strange sights and smells that were threatening to overwhelm her senses. They were wondrous, beyond anything she had imagined. She sent her father an excited grin and continued to follow the witch into the castle.

"Now, how old are you, Miss Vollan?"

"Thirteen," she stated, refusing to be intimidated by everything new she saw around her. She was used to being around all sorts of magics, so even the strange things she saw in the castle should not be allowed to overwhelm her senses. She was here for a reason.

Ylva frowned slightly as the woman procured an old, ratty hat from a cupboard at set it on Ylva's head. The woman looked quite pleased. Ylva jumped when the hat began to speak, muttering things about her thoughts that made her uncomfortable.

"Aah! You, my dear, have a secret, but there is no ill intent behind it, I see. A wolf? Interesting, it's been years since I have seen one of your kind in through the school. But that is not your only secret is it? You are here for protection. Someone you care for. Family? Perhaps someone who is not yet family. It is very brave of you to come here for such a task. You might do well in Hufflepuff, with such a kind heart; but I think it'd better be Gryffindor."

The hat called out it's choice of houses and McGonagall pulled it off her head.

"It's so nice to see new students come into my own house," the woman quirked a smile, which seemed about as amused as she ever got. Her scent was certainly more thrilled than her face was letting on.

Ylva did not know what Griffindor was or what it had to do with where she slept, but she accepted it, hoping to soon run into her new friend. She was not disappointed.

"Professor?"

Another girl had entered. She froze at the sight of Ylva and her father. Ylva stared back; this little curly-haired girl was part of their pack. She could smell it. She smiled at the girl.

"Ah, Miss Granger, this is Ylva Vollan. She is a new student. Could you show her to your dormitories, please?"

The girl nodded, still looking rather stunned.

Ylva said a quick goodbye to her father and left, following the girl out of the office and into the halls.

Once out of the way of most traffic, the curly-haired wolf pulled her into an empty classroom.

"You're like me," she said quietly, her eyes wide and untrusting.

Ylva nodded. "Alpha sent me. We are family!" She smiled brightly, hoping to ease the girl's fears.

Ylva watched as the girl's posture seemed to relax. Her scent brightened rapidly as she seemed to take in Ylva's scent. She introduced herself properly and Ylva immediately felt more at home. She wondered how the other girl had managed to do this all alone for so long. Well, she didn't have to be alone any more.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I re-wrote it at least three times before I was happy with the way it turned out.

Cheers~


	15. Warnings

_Loyalty is a strange breed of magic; it can be given, but never taken by force. Or so it is said. There are several creatures in this world whose loyalty is pressured into following a certain path. A wolf is an independent creature, who ought to only have loyalty toward the pack; it's family. Receiving aid from anyone outside the moon-given magic is not only dishonoring, but binds the wolf to their savior unequivocally. It does not matter how the wolf fights against the new bond; it will continue to pull the wolf to it, tighter and tighter until the wolf can no longer stand it._

 _Most wolves know not to trust a human. There are humans that save and humans that kill; and many that do both. Any time trapped in a bond with such a being often leads to death. Better to avoid them altogether. Humans bring nothing but destruction and death. They want loyalty and instead receive only a tenuous grasp on control._

 _You cannot cage a wolf for long._

* * *

 **Warnings**

* * *

Dumbledore frowned. Taking a moment to stroke his beard, he surveyed the wealth of information before him. Laid out carefully on his massive desk were all his even more carefully constructed plans. He had a plan and did not like other interfering with it. There were some things he could not control, and just because he had to roll with whatever life threw at him didn't mean he enjoyed it. Harry had to be ready when the time came, and Dumbledore could not concentrate on the boy.

No. Instead, he had to worry about _werewolves_. One had been troubling enough, but he knew Harry would need Hermione before the end. She had more booksmarts than anyone, and they had become friends over the last year. By the time she had walked over the threshold and set off his warning wards at the beginning of the term, it was too late to get rid of her. On top of it all, now there was _another_ one. The moment the Vollans had come onto the grounds, Dumbledore had known what they were, just as he knew that _someone_ had been helping the Granger girl during her full moons. So far, none of the werewolves had hurt anyone, or even truly made themselves known, but the more of them there were, the more likely they were to be found out. He had to ensure they stayed a secret, or he may be deposed; the governors were already upset at his inability to combat the terror rampaging through the school. If word got out that there were werewolves at Hogwarts, it would be the end of his time at the school. He could not let that happen, he had to guide Harry to his destiny. The werewolves were only a minor matter, as long as they weren't from one of the few packs in Europe who would do anything to get back at him for some moves he had made against them in the past.

He found himself wondering which of the packs they belonged to. Werewolf children who ended up like Remus could not hide their afflictions; while the two girls currently roaming the halls did not seem to have an issue disguising their true natures. They had to belong to a strong pack; and there were some of those Dumbledore wanted nowhere near his school, his students, and his well-planned schemes.

He glanced out his office window over the grounds when he saw the werewolf ward flicker once more. Four werewolves on the grounds during a full moon. The old man sighed, watching the two girls sneak out of the castle and head toward the forest with no fear save for the worry they could get caught after-hours. He could not ask any of the students to get information out of them; they would tell, no matter their intentions. There was only one who he thought he could get away with retrieving information from the girls, and he may not even need to ask any direct questions. Perhaps they might even find some comradery.

With that thought in mind, and the growing knowledge that Lockhart was not going to be around for another year of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Dumbledore carefully took a clean parchment off its stack and began writing a letter.

After all, after four, what was one more werewolf?

* * *

Ylva had adjusted to classes fairly quickly with Hermione's help. Being indoors a majority of her time was unusual for the girl, and she often found herself restless; wishing she could be outside, but she persevered. The day after she had arrived, Hermione had introduced her to her housemates. Ylva was still thinking about the interaction several weeks later, when she and Hermione were heading out to the forest. Clearly, Hermione was thinking about it, too.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Hermione asked her, "He's going to think you don't like him if you keep frowning at him like that."

Ylva laughed apologetically and shook her head. "He just smells funny, Hermione. You really can't smell it?"

Hermione shook her head. "He smells like he always has, I suppose. He didn't smell any different after I was bitten, just...louder."

Ylva nodded. She was perplexed by the redhead, and, she found today, also by his sister. They both had a strange scent about them that she could not place. The moment she had gone near the Weasleys, she had noticed it. She felt as though she ought to know what each smell meant. She had studied and been tested in all manner of scent identification, but whatever made these Weasleys smell different was not something she had encountered before.

"It's important; I know it is. I just wish I knew why," Ylva whined quietly. She glanced back over her shoulder, glad to be out of the dark tunnel, but also not certain the grounds were any safer. She had always been told humans were trouble, not to be trusted, and now she was surrounded by them. After a moment of silence, she continued, "Are you sure we got out of there without anyone seeing?"

"Fred and George showed me that tunnel earlier this year. As far as I know, no one else knows about it," Hermione replied with a nod.

"It's just so big." Ylva shuddered slightly. There were so many windows and halls and corridors, she had finally stopped jumping at every turn, but the castle still made her nervous. She probably smelled like a nervous wreck. Trying to shake the feeling of the world closing in, she focused on Hermione's words. "Fred and George?"

"Oh! I forgot you haven't met them yet. They have been busy lately. They are two of Ron's older brothers," Hermione explained.

"There are _more_ of them?" Ylva said, her eyes wide. She had a hard enough time imagining one sibling, let alone three. There were no other children in the pack, and Ylva was truly only used to dealing with adults. It was strange to be around so many people her own age. She was looking forward to seeing her Father tonight; she was missing something familiar.

At Hermione's laugh, Ylva stopped. "More than _four?!"_

"Ron and Ginny have five older brothers."

Ylva blinked rapidly. " _Five?_ I've always wondered what having a brother or sister would be like…"

* * *

Hermione watched her new friend's demeanor go from wonderous and excited to suddenly pensieve. The other girl often had wide swings of mood, but most of those had to do with her nerves. Hermione had been wondrously overwhelmed at Hogwarts. Over the past several weeks she had learned that the tight spaces and massive amounts of people scared the other girl. She was slowly getting used to all the smells. It was easier for Hermione when she had first come after being bitten because everything was already familiar. It was all new for Ylva. She knew that most of the school attributed the girl's odd behavior to her story about homeschooling, but Hermione could guess the truth. Her friend had probably never lived outside the pack that Hermione so desperately wanted to know, and it was hard for her to be away from it. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Fen had been reluctant to reveal anything when she had asked him when she might meet the pack. She knew he wanted her to go to school, and she wanted to as well; and now Ylva was here too.

Hermione turned back to her friend, realizing that her scent had changed.

Ylva was sad; she was hiding it fairly well, but Hermione could smell it. She thought it odd that Fen paid special attention to her; weren't there more children in the pack that the two of them?

"Ylva, what happened to your mum?" Hermione asked quietly, not wanting to pry, but insatiably curious. She watched as the golden-haired girl bit her lip and glance deeper into the forest. Fen and Andor were waiting for them, looking concerned.

"Come with me, little one," Fen's quiet but firm voice made Hermione think she had made a mistake just by asking.

She stared up at Fen and Andor, both who looked very serious. She followed the large werewolf away from Ylva and her father. She was admittedly nervous; she knew she was woefully lacking in pack etiquette, and thought Ylva was helping a little, there were just things she didn't know. She didn't want to do anything wrong, and she especially did not want to open any old wounds.

Hermione followed Fen until they were well out of earshot of the other two werewolves. He sat down on a fallen log and gestured for her to join him. The lump in her throat grew; Fen didn't _smell_ angry, but he was frowning. She already missed the smile he normally gave her when he saw her. She took a seat next to him and took a deep breath.

"You've done nothing wrong, pup," he said after a moment of silence, "Don't be afraid."

Hermione immediately breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. "Why are Ylva and I the only children in the pack?"

Fen sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair. Hermione could smell the sorrow on him and immediately let out a concerned whine.

"There are some things that I would rather forget, little one," he began. "As Alpha, I cannot forget. Do you understand?"

She nodded gravely. He was their leader; he had to be prepared for everything. It struck her that even though he was unable to teach her everything she wanted to know, Fen was good at making sure she understood his role in the pack. She did not have time to wonder why, however, as Fen began diving into a tale that almost immediately brought tears to her eyes.

"There was a time when we were treated even worse than we are now. It was a long time ago, now, but we've never recovered. The first wizarding war took its toll on us as well, but this is where it started. Several of the packs around Europe were rounded up; they let anyone who was not an Alpha go, and the rest had to stay. My brother and I were among those who were kept by the humans. He was Alpha at the time and fought hard."

Hermione put a hand on the large werewolf's arm. She wasn't certain where the story was going, but judging by Fen's angry, bitter scent, it was not going anywhere pleasant. She did not shirk away from him when a growl grew in his throat as he spoke.

"They thought if they could control the Alphas, then they could control the packs." Fen smiled sadly. "Which is, in essence, true. For a time, the humans kept us _in-check_ by threatening to hunt us down. They had our Alphas, and losing an Alpha is not something that a pack easily recovers from without one to take its place. Jormun was Alpha then."

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were accumulating in her eyes, flooding down her cheeks. She knew the answer before even asking the question, but she couldn't believe it without hearing Fen say it himself. The wizards couldn't have been so cruel, could they?

Fen shook his head slightly. "We were rescued, but only some of us. Knowing I was safe was enough for Jormun. He died in a cage and the pack bond passed to me." The older werewolf seemed to be transported back to the time he was speaking of. There was pain on his face and in his scent. "I don't want you to trust the humans, little one. Don't put yourself in danger. If you ever owe someone your life, repay that debt as soon as possible."

The lump in Hermione's throat was back. She hadn't known just how much Fen distrusted and even hated humans. He had been hurt so much and was trying to protect her from a similar fate. She did not think her friends would be so unkind, but Fen was more experienced.

"Loyalty, Alpha?"

Fen nodded, "I don't know how the magic works, but we give it to each other; only occasionally challenging for it. Perhaps it is to balance our other gifts." He gave a slight shrug. "Humans don't need our permission to take our loyalty, they just need to be clever enough to save our lives. They become master over you as surely as the moon. Be careful, little one."

The curly-haired girl nodded. She could tell Fen was speaking from experience. She could smell the anger and worry coming off him and wanted to offer him some comfort, even though she felt like it was not truly her place to do so. She was just a cub, there was nothing she could give Fen that would reassure him. Stowing logic, if only for the moment, she followed her instinct and snuggled into the other werewolf's arms.

"I'll be careful, Alpha. I promise."

"Good." A smile graced his face and Hermione immediately lit up further. It was then she noticed the moon was close to the horizon. Soon, they would change and no longer worry about the past, or the future. Tonight, they would be more like a pack.

"What do you say we give Andor and Ylva something to chase tonight?"

Hermione grinned and squealed when Fen stood, throwing her onto his shoulders before taking off at a run into the forest.


	16. Dawning

_Wolves are patient creatures. They must be patient in a hunt, wearing down a single animal until they can move in to take it down. They must be patient in finding another who suits them well enough to start a pack of their own. One thing that a wolf does not tolerate, however, is dangers to the pack. A single pack member in danger is always cause for alarm. An Alpha wolf must always think of the pack as a whole first, and individuals second._

 _There are times, however, when the call to save the one outweighs the pull of responsibility to care for the many. It is a fault that wolves must live with and sometimes work against. It is not only for wolves, however. Just as many humans struggle with the ability to choose between doing what is right for many and protecting the one they loved too much._

* * *

 **Dawning**

* * *

Later that same week, Ylva cornered poor Ginerva Weasley. Despite initially making friends and being as fierce as any Weasley, Hermione had noticed the other girl did not have the same happy scent or rosy cheeks that she had come to Hogwarts with. Perhaps Ylva could help her. Hermione certainly wasn't certain how, and she had been so busy with trying to solve the mystery of the Chamber that she had not put in the effort she thought she could have. Hermione watched the other two girls interact with a quiet grin.

"Ginny!" Ylva had marched across the common room and sat down forcefully next to the red-head. "Tell me about your brothers!"

The other girl looked taken aback, but only for a moment. She then donned a pair of narrowed eyes and a tight jaw, "Why do you want to know?"

Ylva met Ginny's suspicion with a genuine smile. Not even Ginny could intimidate her. Actually, from what she saw last night, Ylva was so very comfortable in her own skin. Not even Alpha perturbed her much. Hermione often wished she could be so confidant; she was certainly more at home at Hogwarts than the other werewolf, but there were so many things she was insecure about. She knew books and she knew she was clever, but she always felt as though she lacked in so many other areas. The girl's response brought Hermione once again out of her thoughts.

"I don't have any siblings. What is it like to live with so many other people?"

Ginny's distrustful demeanor fled almost instantly. She broke into a wry grin, "It's kind of horrid. I love my brothers, but they are so _obnoxious!_ Of course, being the only girl is nice. I don't have to share a room with anyone."

"Really? They had to _share_ rooms? Tell me more!" Ylva's eyes brightened and Hermione could smell her excitement from across the room.

It was so nice to see Ginny talking, Hermione mused. She had been so quiet over the year and Hermione wondered if she had made many friends in her year, or out of it, for that matter. The redhead's face was still a bit pale, and she looked so tired, but she was smiling now. It was clear that she loved her family, despite how often her brothers seemed to irritate her. Being an only child herself, Hermione listened quietly to Ginny as she told Ylva of life at the Burrow.

After a time, the pressing fact of the school's resident monster began to weigh in on her mind. Ylva seemed occupied and happy, and Hermione so desperately wanted to solve the problem. She knew that was something she could do. She had to figure it out. She began to head to the library, mulling over the most recent events in her head.

Was that it? Harry was a parselmouth. Suddenly it seemed to click. The only way that Harry would hear words that escaped both Hermione and Ylva's hearing would be if the two werewolves couldn't hear the words at all. That had to be part of the answer. She strode determinedly to the library; she was going to find out what was harming the students, and what had killed Myrtle.

* * *

Fenrir stopped dead; he had lost whatever Lauri was saying to him, but it turned out she had stopped speaking as well. Every noise seemed to dull slightly, if only for a moment. Something was wrong, and he had a sinking feeling he knew what it was. He swallowed, almost afraid to reach out through the bonds that still tied the girls to him and to the pack.

One was fine...happy, even. He knew that was Ylva; her magic had a certain bluntness to it. The other was odd. It was the girl's, but it was like there was a wall between them. She was startled, and frozen. He snarled quietly in frustration and anger.

"Alpha, are you alright? Has something happened?" Lauri's concerned voice finally reached his ears.

He stared sadly at the young woman, shoving down his harsher emotions. He nodded, rubbing his forehead. He did not like this feeling at all.

"Is Ylva okay?"

He nodded once more, "She's fine. They're both okay."

Andor came trotting up as he finished his short sentence. He met Fenrir's eyes briefly; just long enough to understand that something was off. Lauri must've smelled it, because she quickly made herself scarce.

"Ylva?" Andor's voice was understandably full of concern and his scent was increasingly agitated.

"She's fine," Fenrir growled quietly. "I don't think she knows yet."

The two adult werewolves could not leave until the next day. The bond from the younger girl tugged at Fenrir in an unfamiliar dull ache that he couldn't ignore no matter how he tried. He knew why it was there; it served to inform him when something was seriously wrong. The problem was that it refused to subside even for a moment. He paced restlessly in the forest, wanting nothing more than to charge into the castle and save the girl. He knew it would do no good, in fact it would probably harm them all. She was just petrified, she was going to be fine, or so he tried to tell himself. His instincts screamed at him to storm in, to find her, and to bring her out. She was trapped in the castle, helpless, at the mercy of those humans. Just the thought made him snarl.

As night fell the second day, Fenrir caught sight of a distraught Ylva headed into the forest. She darted into her father's arms and cried quietly. Unable to stand the sorrow that seemed to seem into his being, Fenrir snarled and took off, running to relieve his own sorrows, or at least mask it for a time. He should have known it wouldn't work. Nothing that happened around the little bushy-haired Alpha-to-be worked the way he wanted it to. He knew this was coming and he felt like he had done nothing to stop it. The world that the wizards inhabited was dangerous; always playing with forces they didn't understand, lusting for power over others. He hoped this was the most dangerous thing the little witch would ever have to face, but he knew it was too much to hope for. There was bound to be some great calamity to throw them all into yet another upheaval.

The large werewolf ran until he found himself back where he started: staring at the castle with an angry growl in his throat.

He did not noticed Ylva come up beside him until she was already there. "She'll be okay, Alpha. I'll watch out for her."

Fenrir quited slightly. He could smell her concern, and though it was not her place, he could not snap at her for being observant. He had shown her his feelings, however unintentionally, and she was just being herself. He knew the girl beside him wasn't afraid of him; she was much like the other girl in the castle. Nothing but trust came from the two small werewolves. Trust, in one case, Fenrir knew he did not entirely deserve.

* * *

Weeks went by. Fenrir managed to maintain his demeanor after some practice and accidental snarls. Never before had there been a problem with the pack that he couldn't fix. Not on this scale. His chest ached; a sensation that never truly went away. Occasionally he caught himself poking at her bond, hoping for some change, but there was nothing. Just fear, frozen in place, growing stagnant and cold.

Until one day, the pressure lifted. With nothing but a look toward Andor, Fenrir took off toward Hogwarts.

* * *

Hermione blinked rapidly, or tried to. Her eyelids were sluggish and sandy, and her limbs stiff. Her whole body felt heavy and numb. She must have been petrified by the basilisk. Attempting to move was like trying to wade through a swamp on a summer day.

How long had she been gone for? Her eyes widened and she attempted to sit up, expending great effort to do so. Once she was sitting, she swayed slightly, feeling dizzy.

"Oh, give it time, love. You'll be back to normal in just a few hours," Madame Pomfrey's voice was soft and cheerful.

Hermione knew she was trying to be soothing, but she could not wait a few hours. Already she could feel Fen's agitation through the bond. Agitation, and anguish, and fear. The latter two were small, quiet feelings, but they were still there. Hermione imagined she was only getting the leftovers of what the older werewolf had been feeling. She had to go meet him. Frowning at her unresponsive limbs, the girl concentrated on moving them methodically. She started with her fingers and toes until they wiggled just the way she wanted.

The next time Madame Pomfrey came by, Hermione was able to move her limbs again. It still felt like swimming through molasses, but it was working. The mediwitch smiled at her and waved her wand in a way that made Hermione believe it was a diagnostic spell. She had never seen one before, and was fascinated. Magic swirled around her and she felt it delve through her and her own magic before it left, settling on the parchment that Madame Pomfrey beckoned it to. The witch surveyed what Hermione assumed were her results with a small smile.

Hermione could smell her, though. She had smelled normal, happy doing her work. The moment she looked at the parchment, a spurt of fear had wafted over to Hermione, stinging her nose.

"Is everything alright?" she asked quietly, coughing slightly as the words came out. Her throat felt like it was full of dust.

The older witch nodded, her voice strangely airy, "Oh yes, Miss Granger. Everything is normal. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Hermione nodded, plastering a smile on her face. There was something odd about the way Madame Pomfrey was acting; there was something on her chart that the witch didn't like. She reached for the glass of water next to her bed to wet her throat before speaking again.

"How long?"

"You've been in here three and a half weeks, Miss Granger."

Hermione blanched; she had missed the full moon. It was no wonder Fen was so torn up. She was trying to come to grips with the potential consequences of _missing_ a transformation, but she did not know enough to come to any conclusions. "Did anything strange happen while I was out?"

The nurse shook her head. "Not any more than normal, dear," she responded hurriedly before excusing herself to see her other patients.

Hermione moved her concentration back to her limbs. She had to find Fen. He was getting close now, she could feel it. She so wanted to see him, she could not bear the worry that was seeping to her from his end of their strange bond. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment, only ensuring that he knew she was okay.

* * *

Fenrir paced at the edge of the dark forest. His head snapped toward the castle whenever he heard even the slightest sound. Andor had remained silent; which was wise of him. Fenrir was tense; every muscle in his body was on high alert, ready to fight. There was no need for it, but there is was. After so many weeks of tension and worry, he was so close to being able to let it all go.

Suddenly, there she was. It took more self-control than he wanted to admit to keep from running straight toward her. Ylva was helping her out to the forest, it seemed she was not moving quickly yet. Once the girls had reached the protective confines of the forest he darted toward them, scooping the girl up into his arms.

* * *

Hermione felt unbidden tears flood down her cheeks as Fen pulled her into an unrelenting grip, words from his native tongue spilling from his mouth with more ferocity than she'd experienced before. His words were accompanied by a steady, happy growl that was backed with so much feeling she did not need to understand the words. He had worried so much for her, and the relief was coming off him in waves. Truth be told, she was just as relieved that she was okay, and that Harry and Ron had saved the school once again. She took in the Alpha's scent, with all of his strengths and a few weaknesses that made him smell like no one else. He was her Alpha and his scent hadn't changed.

* * *

Ylva watched the large werewolf scoop up her friend with a smile. She had already shed her relieved tears when she had visited Hermione shortly after she had woken up. Hermione had insisted they come down to the forest straightaway. Ylva knew she could feel the Alpha werewolf's presence and had helped Hermione out of bed as soon as she could.

Ylva's eyes widened slightly at the stream of quiet words coming from Fenrir's mouth. It was one thing to be relieved at a pack member's safety, but this seemed a little extreme. She glanced up at her father, who smelled surprised. Andor looked down at her with a wry grin and put a finger to his lips.

The young werewolf nodded at her father, thought she was very confused. If there was more to what was going on than simple pack bonding, Ylva wanted to know what it was. She would figure it out herself, if necessary, but the look on her father's face told her it was best to leave it be.

If there was one thing Hermione had taught her this last year, it was that some things just have to be meddled with.

"Hermione," Ylva said once Fenrir had put the other girl down, "are you coming home with us this summer?"

Ylva watched Fenrir's face darken slightly. She frowned right back at him, setting her jaw. There was no way she was going a whole summer without seeing her new friend. She noticed Hermione's worried glance up at the adult werewolf and continued to stare the Alpha down. He let her challenge him for a few brief moments before growling at her sternly. She dropped her eyes, certain he was going to say no.

"Alright," Fenrir said with an amused growl, "but she has to ask her parents first, Ylva."

Ylva brightened immediately. She was going to get to teach Hermione all about the pack, just like Hermione had showed her all around school. She was so excited to share her life now. She was certain Hermione's Mum and Dad would let her come.

* * *

"Dumbledore, I must speak with you immediately."

The old man turned, a concerned look on his face; it was not often that Poppy Pomfrey came to him with such a look of dread. Especially not after reviving all of their basilisk victims.

"Of course, Poppy. Please, sit."

The witch did so. "I have been running full diagnostics on the petrified students to ensure the potions are working. Everyone is fine except...Miss Granger."

Dumbledore frowned, "What is wrong with the girl? She is not having adverse effects to the point?"

"No, no. She's healing fine. In fact, she's healing faster than the other students," Poppy lowered her voice to nearly a whisper, "She's been infected with Lycanthropy. There is no infection, no wound, and she's been in the hospital wing enough times this year that I know she did not acquire it in school. She's likely been a werewolf the entire year, if not longer,"

Dumbledore gave the distraught woman a solemn nod. He suspected it might come up at some point. Poppy was nothing if not thorough. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "Has she bitten anyone?"

"Sir?" Madame Pomfrey looked taken aback at the simple question. She regained her composure and replied, "No one has come forward."

The old man nodded once more. "You remember what happened with Remus when he was a boy? I want these girls to have a better chance than he did."

Poppy nodded thoughtfully. "I understand, Albus. I am extremely concerned about the welfare of the other students. I am going to begin performing routine medical examinations to ensure it is _not_ spreading. Wait, did you say girls, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded eagerly. "I think that is a fine idea. Although, I believe if you run exams on our new Miss Vollan, you will find that she has the same affliction."

"Two werewolves?"

"They have been careful so far, Poppy, and I will not penalize them for something they cannot control. Miss Granger is clever and won't endanger the lives of the other students. I have already written to Remus to see if he is willing to teach next year. It would be best if they have an adult around who's been through some of the same tragedies."

* * *

 **A/N:** And we have wrapped up year two!

~Cheers


	17. New Places

_Of the many things that come naturally to a wolf, protecting the ones they love is high on the list of priorities. The pack must be protected above all, but each wolf has their place, their own group to guard. When the safety of the pack is not at stake, there may be conflicts within. As with any group of humans, wolves are not above picking favorites and acting on those choices. When wants and needs conflict with wisdom and propriety, trouble can be quick to brew._

* * *

 **New Places**

* * *

It had not been difficult for Hermione to convince her parents to let her spend some time with the pack. It would be good for her, just like going to Hogwarts. After all, she still knew very little about her own kind, and she did not want to make a mistake. She told them of Ylva and how much she missed her friend. They were not certain at first, but by the end of their family trip to Italy, Jean and Charles had agreed to let her go. She owled Ylva as soon as she received another letter from her.

A few weeks later, after an unfortunately solitary Full Moon, it was time for her to go. Ylva hadn't told her who was coming to get her, and while she did not assume, she would have been lying had she said she wasn't disappointed to find Andor at her front door. She tried to hide the way her face fell, but she knew it wouldn't matter.

The man chuckled quietly. "Alpha is very busy this time of year. I'm sure you'll see him later this week."

She nodded, too abashed to speak. Was she really so obvious? Andor's calm, amused scent soon soothed her as she realized he was not going to tease her further. Hermione's demeanor once again drooped slightly when she caught the scent of her mother. She seemed sad.

Andor made himself scarce by making conversation with her father.

"Mum?" the girl asked, her lip trembling slightly. She did not want to inflict more grief on her parents than she had already. She wanted them to be proud of her.

Jean held out her arms and pulled Hermione into a tight hug. "I want you to know that I wish I could have protected you more. You have grown up so much." She released Hermione from her hug for just a moment, to meet her eyes. "I am very proud of you, Hermione."

Hermione gave her mother a tight hug, memorizing her scent. "I love you, Mum. It wasn't your fault. And— I really don't mind being a werewolf." The girl took a breath, she had never said that aloud before. In fact, she was starting to _like_ the fact she was so different. It was so easy to read people now, everyone gave off a scent based on their feelings. It was not something they could hide. She hated sneaking around and acting as though she wasn't a wolf around her friends, but that had everything to due with society and nothing to do with her.

Jean nodded, her smell was certainly proud, with a hint of amusement. Hermione was so grateful for her parents and how they trusted her, even when they did not understand her.

"I'll owl you, I promise," Hermione said earnestly.

"I want to hear all about your adventures this summer, alright. Don't give Fen or Andor too much trouble," Jean smiled.

"I won't!" The girl gave one more hug to her mother before saying a quick goodbye to her father. "I'll see you soon! I love you!"

* * *

Ylva was thrilled to have Hermione come visit for the last half of the summer. She knew it would be hours yet for her father to finish bringing her friend over from England. To pass the time, she had been helping Geira with her summer herb harvest. Before she had gone to Hogwarts she had learned a great deal of her magic from the old werewolf. Everyone in the pack had tutored her at one point or another, but Geira handled most of her tutelage.

"Make sure you harvest the valerian as well, we are running low," the old woman said with a kind smile.

Ylva nodded as she wrapped up one last bunch of moly. The valerian was the last herb to collect this time of year. The girl took her knife and basket and headed back out to Geira's herb garden. She watched the pack as she picked out the best of the valerian; they were all excited to meet the newest pack member. She did not see Fenrir, which made her wonder slightly. He was always around when a new member was present, and Ylva knew Fenrir cared about Hermione more than he often showed. Still slightly perturbed at the Alpha's absence, Ylva walked back inside with a basket-full of herbs.

"Elder?" She spoke up quietly after a time.

"Yes, Ylva?" Geira responded, almost absent-mindedly.

"Hermione is special, isn't she?"

The old werewolf grinned at her. "She is."

Ylva pursed her lips at the vague answer. Geira's scent matched the grin on her face. Fenrir had told her earlier in the year that Hermione was important, but after watching the way he doted on her, she was not certain he was being entirely honest with her.

"How?"

"I think you would not be asking if you did not already have a guess."

Ylva frowned at the old werewolf. Fenrir was not around, and she was going to speak her mind. "He loves her."

"Don't you?" Geira's eyes twinkled mischievously.

Ylva nodded with a small smile. "He loves her more, Geira."

"Is the Alpha not allowed to pick favorites now, Ylva?"

Ylva knew she was not going to get a straight answer out of the old woman. Geira knew something, she was sure of it. She knew Fenrir better than anyone, but was not going to give away a secret if he had entrusted her with it.

Geira was giving her hints; perhaps enough to figure it out herself. Favorites. If Hermione was Fenrir's favorite...Ylva's eyes widened. "She's his mate, isn't she?"

Instead of answering with a smile, Geira's eyes flashed. She still _smelled_ amused, but her demeanor had changed slightly. "Valerian and fairy wings. What will it do, Ylva?"

Ylva paused. She knew both ingredients, but had never heard of them being used together. This had to be related somehow. Or she was right and Geira did not want her to speak of it. It could not have been that much of a secret, could it? Unless Hermione was in danger because of it.

"Do you have an answer?"

"Valerian is used for calming. Fairy wings are a common love potion ingredient. Love potions don't work on us, because we have mates. A love potion only strengthens the call to find your mate," the girl looked to the older werewolf for approval as she began listing the things she knew about the ingredients.

Geira nodded. "You remember well. Do you know what they do when combined and ingested?"

"Assuming the original properties of the ingredients don't change, it should do the opposite of a love potion. It would...suppress the need to bond?"

Geira nodded seriously once more.

"Would it be strong enough to hide the bond itself?" Ylva asked, her concern rising slightly.

"With a hint of dittany and a strong tea. Yes."

"Why?"

"She's young enough that Alpha is feeling the pull without understanding it, dear one. It makes him irritable. The tea calms him. Your friend probably does not understand her own feelings either, and once she does, she will perhaps be old enough for Fenrir to realize who she is."

"But Elder, isn't it better for them to know?"

The old woman smiled. "For two wolves, yes. Hermione has not grown up in this world as you have. You would accept your mate without question. I will not risk her running from who she is meant to be to spare her feelings in the short term. It is good you are spending time with the humans, it is not normal for them to know their mates. They have to choose them."

Ylva understood the fierce glint in Geira's eyes. She was keeping this from Fenrir to protect him. She still wasn't entirely certain _how_ it protected him, but the scent was unmistakable.

"Alpha won't like this," Ylva managed quietly.

Geira laughed, her good humor returning. "I've known that boy since he was just a teen. I'll deal with him if he finds out."

Ylva frowned, but remained silent. She wasn't going to argue with the woman. Even Fenrir avoided doing so, and he did not shy away from conflict. Hermione was the same way. Ylva did not enjoy such things. She knew others considered her forward, but she did not want to be seen as brash, she merely said things as she saw them. She knew he time with Hermione and her friends had instilled a sense of curiosity and mischief in her they had not previously been so strong. There was probably a lot of wisdom in Geira's words, but Ylva did not like keeping things from her friend. She couldn't outright _tell_ Hermione, but maybe she could help her figure it out. The girl sighed, she shouldn't meddle in such things; but she could ask Hermione about it without actually mentioning it.

* * *

Which was exactly what she did that evening as Hermione got settled in. It was late when Hermione arrived and most of the pack was already asleep. Ylva had an extra bed set up in her room for Hermione and the two girls went straight there after a bit of dinner. They hadn't really had any good talks about the boys at school, so Ylva thought there was no time like now to ask.

"Hermione? Do you ever think about your mate?" It was the best question to start off with, she thought. The least unobtrusive. She wanted so desperately to know how her friend felt about the Alpha werewolf, but she could not simply come out and ask her.

* * *

Hermione cocked her head to the side at her friend. "I guess not. I don't really know how it works. I suppose I've dreamed a little, but nothing specific," she said quietly. It was one of the reasons she was here: she wanted to know more about herself. She loved spending time with the pack, and she would learn all she could while she was here. She had not thought specifically about who her mate might be. She was still struggling slightly with the idea that she seemed to have no choice in the matter. Ever other werewolf she had met so far was so certain that it was the right way to do things that she decided it was wiser to wait and see. Maybe she would find her mate and agree completely with everything she had heard, but for now, she was skeptical. "Alpha told me it was different for everyone," she said finally.

"All I've heard are stories. Papa told me the story of how he and Mama met. He said he just knew. I think it's a scent," Ylva replied with. Her scent was odd, but excited.

"What about Ron?" Hermione asked. The two of them had not been able to figure out why Ron seemed to smell different to her friend.

The older girl shook her head immediately, her golden hair swinging with the emphasis. "Ginny, Fred, George, Ron...Even Percy all have the same scent. And I know you don't smell it. There has to be something to that, right?"

Hermione shrugged at her friend. She supposed it had to be _something_. There didn't seem to be enough evidence to suggest anything solid yet. Ylva seemed to think there might be something there. They really had no way of finding out, and Hermione could not help as she was unable smell the same anomaly.

Ylva seemed convinced that they would find their mates. Hermione was not so certain; Fen had not found his yet, so why would they find theirs early? Fen did not like to talk about it, but perhaps Ylva knew more.

"Does Alpha really not have a mate?" Hermione asked quietly. She did not miss the way Ylva grew nervous and excited as soon as she asked. She did not know why, however.

* * *

Ylva struggled to keep a grin off her face. She hadn't expected Hermione to bring Fenrir up without any more prompting. She wasn't certain if she was just curious, or if she was asking for a reason, however. Perhaps more prodding was in order. She wanted to just ask, but Geira would murder her if she did so. Instead, Ylva dropped her voice, "He doesn't like it when we talk about it. I think it makes him sad."

"I know he spent a lot of time with Ingrid when he was younger." It wasn't a lie, she knew the two alphas had a history. Watching Hermione's reaction to her words, she noticed the other girl tensing slightly. She was unhappy. "I guess he called it off, but she keeps coming back." The moment the words were out of her mouth, Ylva felt bad for the other girl. Hermione's frown was particularly murderous. She didn't say anything, but there was a small growl rumbling in her throat. A small scent of jealousy wafted over to her and Ylva quietly locked that away for later.

* * *

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth, stifling her growl that had somehow escaped. She didn't _like_ Ingrid, and neither did Fen. She knew what he smelled like when he thought about that woman, and it was not a fond scent. She couldn't read Ylva any longer. She seemed...satisfied. There was also a scent she couldn't quite place, it was something she had smelled from Fen occasionally. It was a sad smell, but it was different than sadness. There had never been a facial expression that was solid enough that she had been able to pinpoint it, and she felt in the dark about it. She was certain she'd figure it out eventually, but for now, she'd have to be patient. She settled into her covers as Ylva waved off the light.

* * *

 **A/N:** Fixed a typo.


	18. Reindeer

_Secrets, no matter how important, cannot be hidden among wolves. Wolves depend on each other to survive, and they cannot survive alone. If there are secrets to keep, everyone will know. And as such, any secret will be revealed to anyone not aware of the fact that there was a secret in the first place. Whether by accident or not, things long hidden will slowly be revealed._

* * *

 **Reindeer**

* * *

The next morning, Ylva woke Hermione up early. Had she not just traveled from England the night before, it would have felt the middle of the night. The bushy-haired girl rubbed her eyes as she trod along sleepily behind her friend, bundled against the chill of the morning. Just as the night before, it was light outside, but it was earlier than the false dawn seemed to indicate. Hermione had not counted on how _far_ north the wolfpack lived. From what she understood, they lived further to the north than the better half of Iceland. It was not unbearably cold in the grand scheme of things, but it was still July and it felt like any chilly fall morning at Hogwarts.

Hermione wondered slightly at Ylva's clothing. She had rarely seen her normal clothing while at school. It was much more reminiscent of clothes that Hermione would wear at home than anything she had seen in the wizarding world. Though Ylva's clothes were more suited for warm weather than most of Hermione's. Colorfully dyed, closely knitted wool was the most common material she saw that morning. It was a refreshing change from the rest of the impracticality that English wizards seemed to follow.

Hermione's nose twinged slightly, there was an unfamiliar scent on the air as they walked through the village. It was faint until they reached the far edge of the town, where it became steadily stronger. It was not an unpleasant smell, but it took her several minutes to place it. Livestock of some sort, she assumed.

The two girls approached the large barn at the edge of the village, where the scent was strongest.

"Reindeer," Hermione remarked with no small amount of delight when Ylva opened the barn door softly. The animals were quiet, aside from a few snorts and stamped hooves. Reaching out to touch one, Hermione smiled as she brushed her hand against the smooth summer coat of the nearest to her.

"I let them out in the morning. They love to go up into the hills during the day and graze, while it's still warm enough. I also bring them in at night, when I am here," Ylva smiled fondly at the creatures.

Hermione nodded, wrapping her fur-lined coat closer around her as Ylva opened the large doors to let the animals out. The heat of the reindeer together kept the barn warm, but as soon as the doors were opened, the chill of the morning wafted in. The herd perked up almost immediately. The tinkling of the bells fixed around their necks grew loud and hurried as they frolicked out, nearly tripping over one another in their eagerness to be let out. Hermione watched with fascination until the jingling of the bells was unable to be heard.

When the girls were done with the herd, Ylva took Hermione to Geira's house. Hermione had not yet met the old woman, though Ylva had spoken about her regularly. She sounded very much to be like McGonagall, and Ylva had likened the two on more than one occasion.

There was smoke trailing up out the chimney of Geira's hut, which immediately piqued Hermione's interest. She was still rather chilled. As the two approached, Hermione picked up some new scents. She could, of course, smell the fire, and the smoked meats, but there was also a smell of dried herbs that reminded her of the potions sotreroom. Rather unlike Hogwarts, Geira's home carried with it a warm, homey smell. It reminded her more of tea than of the musty dungeons.

Ylva did not knock, but neither did she need to. The door opened for them as the approached and the door shut gently behind them. The warm, welcoming atmosphere enveloped the girls the moment they entered. Ylva smiled and quickly sat by the fire, a happy scent trailing in her wake. A few moments later, when Hermione had settled herself on the bench next to Ylva, a kind-looking old woman puttered in from the opposite end of the hut.

"Hello, Hermione," the woman smiled fondly, a heavy accent on her tongue.

"Hello," Hermione responded with a smile.

Geira's English was broken, but it was decent enough that Hermione did not have trouble understanding her, "I have heard much. You are...important."

Hermione gave Ylva a concerned glance, her eyes widening slightly. She had heard nothing of her _importance_. She repeated the word, frowning slightly.

Geira merely nodded, giving no reply.

"Elder, when will Alpha be back?" Ylva asked quietly after a time.

"Fenrir is busy, Ylva. He comes when he is done," the woman said absent-mindedly as she continued to tend to the tea.

Hermione stared once more. Fenrir. "It's very fitting," she said quietly. She wondered why he had never told her his full name. Perhaps he did not like it? It would make sense that Geira did not follow his wishes, as the pack elder. Her eyes found Geira as she processed her thoughts, the old woman carried a slight frown. It was all manner of disapproving.

"He did not tell you…" The woman's lips grew tight and she muttered something in Norwegian that made Ylva giggle into her tea.

"What did she say?"

Ylva blushed slightly but answered with a simple, "She says Alpha is very stubborn."

Hermione was not certain that the woman had said exactly that, but she took it. It was no doubt close to what the woman had meant.

That day, Hermione spent with Ylva and Geira, learning about many of the herbs that were beneficial for them, and for the pack. Geira was all too happy to answer Hermione's questions. She asked her about pack life and the elder answered most of her questions. There were a few she would not answer, and instead instructed her to ask Fenrir for the answers. She did not think much of it, as none of her questions seemed to have anything to do with another.

Geira had smelled annoyed when she found out the larger werewolf had not been using his full name. Hermione thought it was a bit odd, though she was not overly concerned by it.

"Geira?"

"Yes, pup?" Geira said softly, cheer in her voice.

"Are names very important to werewolves?"

The cheer in Geira's scent fell slightly, "Why are you asking?"

"Alpha doesn't use my name," Hermione said with a quiet, unspoken question.

"I think that is for him to say," Geira remarked softly, but with such a tone that left no room for argument. Her scent serious.

Hermione nodded slowly. The old woman's protective scent had flared up again. Fenrir must've meant a lot to her.

"Yes. Names are important," Geira said, surprising her with an answer. "When a wolf does something, good or bad, they are given a new name because of it."

Hermione nodded again, eager to learn more, but she also understood it was a touchy subject. Geira was to the point most of the time, and Hermione appreciated that.

"Now, let's get the herbs strung up."

* * *

At the end of the day, or what Hermione assumed was the end, as the sun was near the horizon, but refused to dip beneath it, the three walked out of the village, past the barn, and out onto the grassy field.

"We're going to bring the herd in, now," Ylva smiled at her.

Hermione nodded, watching intently as Ylva turned from her and let out a call. It was not at all what Hermione expected. It was a beautiful, shrill sound, but musical rather than harsh. Geira joined in not a moment later. The sound echoed off the hills in a way that seemed magical, even though it was not.

The silence between each call was long and deep. Hermione kept watch for the reindeer, but she could not see them. After a moment, Ylva turned to her once more.

"Listen."

Hermione did. Far off, she could hear the same bells that accompanied the herd earlier that morning. They came closer as Ylva returned to calling them.

Only minutes later, they were surrounded by the small, hardy beasts, the jingling of their bells now loud and cheerful. Ylva shook her grain bucket and the reindeer followed her peacefully into the barn.

"I don't need help bringing them in, any more. I think Geira likes to sing," she whispered as they fed and grained the herd.

Hermione smiled at her friend. It was so very different here than she was used to, but she was growing to love it. Even without Fenrir, though she missed him, but that sensation was not new. It was something that she lived with consistently, and it was no different now.

* * *

For the first week, Hermione spent her time learning and meeting the pack, and she found she loved them. They were knowledgeable and practical, and full of their own magic. She felt an outsider still, but she knew that none of them felt that way about her. She could smell it. Over the course of the week, she did not have much time for herself.

On the rare occasion that she found some time to herself, she made her way to the barn. The scent of the animals masked hers enough that no one came looking for her immediately. It was quiet, aside from the light tinkling of bells and soft stamping of hooves. It was peaceful near the barn, and warm. Away from the hustle of the village, Hermione found time to read.

It was one such time, when the sun was warm and Hermione was reading just outside the barn, where several of the older reindeer had taken to napping. She sat, not far from the sleeping beasts, reading a book that Geira had leant her on Norwegian folktales. Many of which painted werewolves in a different light than those she had grown up with. There was a reverence about the way the Norwegians believed in the existence of trolls, and fairies, and werewolves. So unlike the way that her people spoke of the magical and unknown in fear.

A strange sensation tugged at her, warmth flooding down her spine in an entirely comforting manner. She turned on instinct, her face flooding with a startled smile when her eyes met the source of the sensation.

"Fenrir!"

He froze, his blue eyes growing dark for a moment, the grin that was on his face frozen in some emotion Hermione could not place.

Hermione swore she could smell a hint of fear for only a moment. It was so small and swift that she must have imagined it. Fenrir could not be afraid of something as small as his name.

"I'm sorry!" she said immediately, "I just— I heard it—"

"Geira," Fenrir's eyes darted to the old woman, clear across the village, his face darkened by a harsh glare. He growled quietly. "Don't be sorry, pup," he said as an obvious afterthought, his voice not as soft as she supposed he meant it to be.

"I'll stop," she said hastily. There was something about it that he did not like, and she did not want to upset him.

He shook his head as he turned back to her, "No, little one. I don't mind."

"Then why—" She was more confused than ever; his scent was irritated to say the least, but he was telling her not to stop.

"There are many things I will tell you," he interrupted her firmly, "This is not one of them. I hope you will never understand. If you do, it means I was not able to protect you."

She nodded thoughtfully. There was that scent again; it was gone before she could truly analyze it. Sad, but...not.

"They like you," the large werewolf nodded toward the reindeer, his irritation gone.

Hermione laughed quietly. "I'm not so sure. Ylva tried to teach me to call them. I think I scared half the herd before Geira called them back. I was surprised she could call, she was laughing so hard," the girl pouted slightly.

Fenrir laughed, his scent as though he had not laughed in a long time. It was concerningly refreshing. "I was never good at it either. You have other talents, little one."

"I don't like not being good at something."

The larger werewolf laughed heartily and scooped the girl up into his arms.

"Yet more we have in common," Fenrir's speech was nearly dwarfed by the girl's delighted squeal. He threw her up on his shoulders and the two chatted as he walked, catching up on some lost time.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi Friends! Thanks for your continued support through the crazy school year =)  
Also, Fixed a typo


	19. Answers

_Wolves, by nature, are hardy creatures. The good of the pack is of paramount importance. Personal pride, agendas, and even comfort must be set aside if they pack's needs demand it. A wolf that is not willing to give themselves over for the good of the rest is a burden and a danger to the rest of the pack. Self-denial is one of the most important lessons a leader can learn, whether wolf or human, as long as it is for the betterment of those following._

* * *

 **Answers**

* * *

Fenrir could not keep the grin off his face as he watched the two youngest pack members spar together. They were actually concentrating this time; earlier in the week it had taken only minutes for the two to descend into giggles. The girl had seemed surprised when he suggested teaching her their method of hand-to-hand, or as often as not, tooth-to-claw. It had taken her only moments to note his serious tone, and had readily agreed with a frown of her own. She needed to know how to fight without a wand if the day came when he was no longer around to act as Alpha. If anyone ever challenged her, she needed to know how to respond. She could not be afraid of using every tool at her disposal.

He hadn't required either of them to battle each other fiercely enough to require anything more than fists and feet. He knew she was not entirely comfortable with herself outside of the full moon. They had time for a few more hunts before they returned to school, and Fenrir was going to take full advantage of that time. She had done alright on the last hunt, but she had been hesitant with her teeth. They were small, dwarfed by her adorably large front teeth, but she was young. Ylva did not have her fangs either. When the girls were closer to adulthood, their teeth would come in without a fuss. It was yet again another good reminded that they were children. He had been lucky, having been bitten before he was too old. A werewolf turned as an adult rarely acquired as much standing as one who had grown up in the pack. After a certain age, the wolf teeth refused to grow.

The werewolf nodded in approval when the girl nearly had the advantage over Ylva. The older girl was vastly more experienced, but the younger werewolf was fiercer, more determined. He loved having her here in the pack. She was handling the transition very well; she fit right in with both the old werewolves and the younger adults. Fenrir was once again saddened by the lack of children in the pack. Ylva had grown up too quickly, being surrounded by only adults until now. Now, she was able to be a child. Both here and at Hogwarts, for however long it would last. He knew they could not stay this way forever, and in a few short weeks they would be back at Hogwarts. It agitated him still when she was out of his reach; it was not worse than it had been when he had first found her, but neither was it truly any better.

* * *

Hermione stared at Ylva from across the fire, feeling her mouth water at the sight of her friend devouring the large squirrel she had caught only thirty minutes before. Her stomach growled fiercely and she wrapped her arms around it; the emptiness boring into her like a dental drill into a rotten tooth. She glanced up at Fenrir, knowing what he was going to say before he said it.

"When you catch something, you may eat it, little one," the werewolf said firmly, but his tone carried a gentleness to it that somehow made it worse.

Her lip trembled and she nodded. She knew he wasn't going to let her starve; he had always taken care of her, but she could not accept pity. She wouldn't. She could do this. Setting her jaw, she stood and turned away from the fire, stuffing down the feeling of hunger by concentrating on nothing but the scents and sounds that permeated the mountain air.

* * *

Fenrir frowned as he watched the girl stalk off once more. They had been out all day, and she'd come so close to catching something all on her own, but close was not good enough. As a child, he did not expect her to be able to feed herself, but the more he pushed her, the more determined her scent became. He watched her continually push through her hunger to go back on the prowl.

Another hour passed and she had not come back. Rising, he quietly followed her trail. It was not long before he found her, looking frustrated. He could smell there had been a rabbit nearby, but it was gone now. Her anger and failure was hot in the air, and he was fairly certain it was time for her to come back to the fire.

"Pup—" he started softly, only to be cut off by an irritated growl. He raised his eyebrows as her determination returned. With a resigned nod, he stepped back and let her continue. There was no danger in letting her hunt until she was ready to come back. He walked back to the fire, responding to Geira's raised eyebrows with a grin and a shrug. The rest of the hunting party was asleep, including Ylva, who had nearly fallen asleep in her meal. There was plenty enough left of the doe Fenrir had caught to share, but he was proud of the girl for refusing to give up.

Another hour passed and she still had not come back. He could feel her hunger and frustration growing further through the bond they inexplicably shared.

It was late when he felt her returning. Geira had taken her leave to sleep a while since, and he had refueled the fire more than once. He barely heard her footsteps as she approached, but rather a quiet sniffling. It was not loud enough to disturb the sleeping party, but he was more than confused. He watched her approach, carrying something in her hands, her mouth smeared with red. Her lip trembled as she approached and she refused to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Alpha," she whispered, obviously choking back sobs and reeking with disappointment.

Fenrir cocked his head at the sight of her. She held a small hare in her bare hands. She had done what he asked, so why did she seem so certain she had failed?

She handed him the animal, tears leaking from her eyes. There were definitely small teeth marks in the exposed muscle of the rabbit.

"I— I was so hungry. I couldn't—"

Fenrir laughed, unable to help himself. Quickly setting the animal aside, he pulled the girl into a tight hug, still chuckling. "I told you to eat whatever you caught, little one."

Tears leaked freely from her eyes now. "But wasn't it a test?"

"Of course," he said, pulling her chin up to make her eyes meet his, "You passed."

If anything, she cried harder. Her scent grew more confused. "What did I _do_?"

He shook his head with amusement. "You used your teeth." He held the rabbit out to her, "You can eat, pup."

"Don't I have to cook it?"

Fenrir shook his head with another patient grin. "Only if you want to wait that long. Do you remember the deer last year? Your stomach doesn't change just because the moon is gone."

She nodded, her eyes visibly brightening. She did not speak again as she suddenly became very immersed in her meal.

* * *

Fenrir closed his eyes, trying to keep calm. He was not certain why she was being so belligerent, but he had not been expecting it. Perhaps he had pushed her too hard. She repeated her question, her small frame quivering slightly.

" _Why_ did you not want me to come, Alpha?"

"I did, pup. Now I'm afraid no one wants you to leave. It's dangerous for us outside."

"I was fine this year," she growled in protest, only to be met with Fenrir's snarl.

He glared at her, clearly her definition of fine was very different from his. "You cannot be so reckless with your life."

"Why? It's mine, isn't it?!" she snarled back, immediately picking up his ire and responding in kind.

"You are important to the pack," he said through his teeth. If he was calm, she would stay calm as well.

"No more than anyone else," she argued.

He growled again, startling the girl slightly. The light of recognition appeared in her eyes. She knew he was keeping something from her, and he could only blame himself and his temper for letting her find out.

She growled straight back at him, obviously unafraid to challenge him. He could sense both her frustration and her curiosity as she stood up to him. He had pushed her hard, but she had pushed herself harder than he asked for. She should know why. This was not about why any longer, however. This was about the challenge. She was built to challenge him, and he had to admit he was curious to see how far he could push her before she backed down.

She bared her small teeth and snarled.

Fenrir responded with a serious warning growl.

* * *

The sound of angry werewolves caught Ylva's attention. She got close enough to see Fenrir and Hermione snarling fiercely at one another. She could smell the anger and frustration from where she stood. Immediately concerned, Ylva ran for her father.

"Papa!" She could not help the concern that rattled her at seeing her friend so deep into conflict with the Alpha, no matter what her eventual status with Fenrir may turn out to be.

Her frantic face must have spurned her father into action even before he could smell her, for he immediately darted in the direction she pointed. She followed after him, confused when he stopped and held her back when he saw what was going on.

"Papa! She should not—"

"They need to work this out themselves, Ylva. They will have many more fights like it. You know they'll both be fine, in the end."

A loud cry reached their ears, shrill and feminine.

Ylva gave her father a reproachful glare.

* * *

Hermione growled angrily, unwilling to submit to Fenrir's unwavering presence.

The larger werewolf was not willing to back down, and somehow Hermione knew that he should not be. She felt guilty challenging him, but she found herself unable to stop. She wanted to know why he was pushing her and she wanted to know _now_. She didn't know what possessed her to strike out at him, but she did.

He caught her hand deftly and before she knew it, he had his jaw clamped in her shoulder. She yelped, more in surprise than in pain. In fact, it did not really hurt at all. She felt her face heat up even as she tried to struggle against his hold and was stilled by another stern growl.

Slowly, Fenrir released his hold on her and stepped back. "Are you done now?" he asked with a growl.

She nodded, unable to look at him. She heard him sigh quietly and mutter something in his native tongue. A cool, tickling sensation ran through her shoulder where he had bitten her. She braved a glance up at the older werewolf, who no longer looked angry. In fact, he was wearing a bemused smile.

"You're already resisting me."

She opened her mouth, but was silenced once more when he continued to speak.

"I expected it, little one. I did not want you to carry the weight on your shoulders so young, and so I did not tell you."

Hermione nodded, still not quite understanding, but rather recognizing that Fenrir was going to give her some answers.

"Someday, there will be a time when I won't be here."

Hermione's heart sunk as she surveyed the werewolf's grave frown. This was far heavier than she ever thought.

"I don't want you to worry about that; it may never happen. If it does, the pack will need a leader."

Hermione glanced over at Andor's house briefly, noticing the he and Ylva were standing on the hill, watching. She looked back at Fenrir, confused.

Fenrir shook his head. "Andor will be there to help you through it, but he will not lead for you. That may be explained in time, and you will wait for that explanation."

She nodded once more, the weight Fenrir had spoken of settling on her shoulders in a gravity she had never felt before.

"As long as I'm around, Hermione, you don't have to worry."


	20. New Friends

_The soft pounding of paws on snow can bring forth happy memories or bad ones. For a pack, it is a hunt, a thrilling and necessary adventure. They know that it will shortly be followed by a happy chorus of sated family members. For other wolves, it is possible that they are the ones being hunted. Isolated and ostracized, they are often chased off by their own kind. Still more leave of their own accord, though such individuals are not welcome back into the family. There are few, very few, who leave due to circumstances they cannot control, and yearn, perhaps unknowingly, for the family they never had._

* * *

 **New Friends**

* * *

Hermione turned to Fenrir with a wide smile; an expression that rapidly turned into a frown when she saw his face. His lips were tight and he was shaking his head slightly, a solemn scent on the air.

"You aren't going with us," she surmised.

"No, pup. You and Ylva will go with Andor. I cannot go with you."

Her shoulders sank, but she nodded. By the way his scent was guarded, she knew he would not tell her why, should she ask, but she wanted him to know she was wondering. She wanted him to know she did not think of him as different, for whatever reason he seemed to hide from society.

"Why?" she said, staring back at him with a saddened heart.

He answered only with a quiet, frustrated growl. She lowered her eyes quickly, trying to show her deference. He responded by pulling her into a calm hug. She took it as it was, a quiet apology for being unable to do something they both wished he would.

"Time to go, little one," he said gently, pulling her away from him.

Hermione nodded with a grin, wondering slightly at his instant reversion to using the monikers he had chosen for her, rather than her name. It did not expressly bother her, but she wanted to know more. It seemed every time she unraveled one mystery, she was met with more.

She waved to him and he gave her a short nod of encouragement.

* * *

Fenrir watched her portkey away with the other two werewolves. The mild ache in his heart returned as she snapped out of existence. He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the feeling. Not only was it distracting, but he did not understand it. As if on cue, Geira appeared at his side, a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

"Watching them grow is hard."

"I have watched many grow up...None of them were like this," he admitted quietly, begrudgingly taking the tea she was offering him. He knew there was something in the tea she was giving him; but he was also very aware that whatever it was, it helped. She knew something; she always knew, but he wasn't going to get anything out of her. He had learned his stubborn streak from her, he was certain.

"Ingrid will be back," he told Geira quietly. "I left things unfinished."

"Have you considered taking her up on her offer?"

Fenrir snarled angrily in response.

"Not permanently, Alpha, but long enough for Hermione to grow into her station."

He shook his head. "It would not protect her. She already knows. It's better now if I keep them apart."

Geira opened her mouth once more, but her scent gave away her retort before she could voice it.

"If she wasn't certain before, my leaving made certain of it," he snapped sharply. "I made the mistake of accepting her offers before, I refuse to give her more power over me."

He did not turn to look at Geira, frustrated with himself, he had not expected Ingrid to be so thoroughly possessive of power she never had. She was trying, he had to give her that. She had sent one of her newer members to watch over the summer migration. It was not enough to reverse the damage they had done, and Fenrir suspected she just wanted to give the man something that would keep him out of her hair. He scratched his head thoughtfully. Ingrid was never shy about her conquests, or shutting down those she did not care for. Sending one away was new. Perhaps she was merely bored, but she had too many problems to be truly bored. Perhaps she truly felt something for the man; a thought that made Fenrir snort a quiet laugh. Perhaps that information would be useful. In any case, he knew he would be restless for several days, as he always was when the children left. When Andor returned in two days, Fenrir would make a trip north.

* * *

Diagon Alley was as wondrous as ever. It was the last day of the holidays and the place was packed with Hogwarts students. Mostly those from the further reaches of the country, flocking to London to take the train to school. Ylva had never before been to London, and her eyes were as wide as Hermione remembered them being the first week at Hogwarts. They did everything they possible could, with Ylva leading the charge.

The three ate lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, and were soon joined, to no one's surprise, by Harry and a gaggle of Weasleys. They had apparently just arrived and found Harry, who had already completed his shopping, having been in London for several days. Hermione eyed him reproachfully when he told the story of blowing up Aunt Marge, and walking out on the Dursleys.

"Honestly, Harry, that was really reckless," she said with pursed lips while Ron laughed uproariously.

Before Harry could protest, Fred clapped Hermione on the shoulder, "Lighten up, Granger. It could happen to anyone."

"Anyone except miss perfect, here," George continued, "What are your grades again? Overly Outstanding?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as the twins continued to make ridiculous ways to describe her study habits. She was truly glad Harry was alright after everything that had happened to him. They were soon ushered back into Diagon Alley by the Weasley Matriarch. The four third years were sent to Magical Menagerie to pick up rat tonic for Ron's pet Scabbers, who had apparently not been feeling well lately.

Ron screeched when they walked in when a large orange ball of anger accosted his head. Registering the animal's scent before she truly saw it, Hermione understood immediately that it was some sort of cat. An angry cat. The moment the cat stood still long enough to see, Hermione could not help but smile. The creature was uncomfortable, even angry, but she saw something of herself in the fiery fluffball and, despite Ron's hurriedness, lingered in the store.

Ron purchased his rat tonic, and quickly left the shop, cradling Scabbers like the cat had threatened to eat him. To be fair, it _was_ a cat. She attempted to move toward the creature, but he arched his back and hissed, a frightened bitterness wafting off his bristled hair.

"That poor creature has been here a long time," the shopkeeper said, "He's very smart, but no one seems to want him. They always bring him back. I'm afraid he may be here forever."

Hermione looked at the cat, his squished fat contorted into an angry snarl. There was something odd about his scent; he did not smell quite like the other cats in the shop. He must have been something a little more magical. She pulled out her money and handed it to the shopkeeper without a word.

The woman sighed and moved to catch the animal.

"No. I can do it," Hermione said quietly. "If I can't, I don't deserve to keep him." She watched the animal's body language as she spoke, and watched his tail relax marginally. He was curious.

"Hey, Crookshanks," she called to him softly, holding out her hand, "I want to take you home with me."

The cat sniffed her hand, suspicion strong in his scent.

"We'll be at school most of the year, and there will be lots of space for you to run around in. And in the summer we will go home. You will love mum's garden. There are always birds and squirrels to chase. No one will bother you unless you ask for it. I promise."

Crookshank's fur relaxed; settling into its normal fluffiness.

Hermione sat for a moment, waiting to see if he would approach her. Ever so slowly, he came toward her, muscles taught to run back to his hiding place should she be lying. He sniffed her carefully and made what Hermione took to be a critical moment of eye contact. She held his wild eyes with certainty. She would keep her promises.

Suddenly smelling satisfied, though still wary, the cat walked toward her, rubbing his face hesitantly on her outstretched hand. She smiled and cautiously gathered him into her arms, leaving a slightly stunned shopkeep behind.

As expected, Ron threw a fit about the cat. Hermione quickly deposited Crookshanks in the room she was sharing with Ylva at the Leaky Cauldron, away from the noise and people. He seemed to appreciate it, rubbing up against her legs before hopping up on the windowsill to watch the traffic go past. She smiled and returned to the group of friends.

Andor gave her a wry grin. "I hear our little pack has grown again, he said quietly.

Hermione nodded. "I've always wanted a cat, and Mum and Dad gave me money for my birthday. I think he'll get along well with everyone."

"I have no doubt," the older werewolf smiled.

* * *

The next morning was fairly uneventful, until they arrived on the Hogwarts Express. The train was _full_. The four wandered until they ran into Neville, who was also looking for a compartment. After a thorough search, they found a compartment. They filed in, and Hermione froze. She felt Ylva grab her hand, her fingers tightly clenched, and knew she smelled it too.

The man sleeping next to the window was a werewolf. Unable to speak of it, and equally unable to decline sitting in this particular compartment, Ylva and Hermione made nervous eye contact and tried to remain calm. Surely, if he was a werewolf, he would not tell anyone about them; not without telling someone about himself.

Hermione buried her nose in her book, trying to forget about the man. "R.J. Lupin" according to his suitcase. She assumed he was a new professor and voiced her thoughts when it was brought up by the boys' discussions. Aside from the strange werewolf, the trip itself was as pleasant as the morning. That is, until the train came to a sudden, screeching stop.

She frowned. "We can't possibly have arrived yet."

The air grew bitterly cold. The whole train suddenly reeked of pain and despair. Hermione nearly gagged at the overwhelming stench of fear. The worst of everyone's horrors all played out together in a single, frigid, sweat-drenched night terror. Her eyes darted to Harry, who seemed to be suffering the worst of it. Her own fear was masked slightly by concern, but that was soon gone, as a shadow appeared at the door. It seemed to last forever, but the shadow opened the door, reaching in with long, gaunt fingers.

Hermione shivered, the hair on the back of her neck raised. The small compartment filled with the scent of fear and a sense of dread filled the girl. She had never felt like this before, despite everything that had happened to her. Even worse, she had no idea how to stop it; she could not even scream.

That was the moment the strange werewolf woke up and cast a spell she did not recognize at the hooded creature. It fled, and the air immediately warmed around them and the feeling of despair fled with the creature. Unfortunately, the scent lingered.

Hermione watched as Lupin tended to Harry, who woke up with a cry. The werewolf smelled not only concerned, but angry. He looked around, his lips tight.

Immediately wary, Hermione tried not to act any differently, but her nervousness was to be expected with what had just occurred. She did not need to worry, at least for the moment.

Lupin reached into his bag and handed everyone some chocolate. "Eat it. It will help. I am going to speak with the conductor."

While the man was gone, the teenagers stared at the chocolate, all extremely unnerved. They were silent until Lupin returned, looking and smelling even more irate. He sighed, the scent of anger washing away in lieu of resignation.

"That was a dementor," he said simply, "they guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. Eat the chocolate, I promise it's not poisoned. _Apparently,_ " he continued, "they had to search the train for Sirius Black." The scent of anger appeared and disappeared once again, "As if he would have any interest in children. By the way," he gave them all a small smile, "my name is Remus Lupin. I will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."


	21. Omega

_The seasons change and the days grow shorter. The deer become skittish, foraging for greens under the freshly fallen snow. Jumping at every sound, or at any movement, the wary animals attempt to keep warm in their harsher environment. Wolves have much the same problem; as their prey becomes scarce, so does their acquiescence to outsiders. In the best of times, wolves are wary of newcomers. In winter, when food is hard to come by and every morsel must go to the pack, there is no room for someone new. So it is with any vulnerable wolf._

* * *

 **Omega**

* * *

There was no doubt that Remus Lupin made both young werewolves nervous, at least until their first class with him. He did not treat them any differently than anyone else, and did not smell suspicious or curious about them. In fact, he seemed more concerned about Harry than anyone else, giving off that odd scent Hermione was beginning to think was guilt.

Despite his oddities as a werewolf, Professor Lupin was an excellent teacher. Hermione was rather disappointed she did not get to fight to boggart. Ylva had shuddered and said she had been glad not to see her worst fears. Neither of the girl's had missed Lupin's boggart: the full moon. The idea that a werewolf was afraid of the thing that gave him power was unnerving for Hermione. She pulled Ylva aside later and asked her about it.

"Alpha has told me about it," she said sadly, "Some werewolves just want to be human, and they ignore their wolf side. I've never seen it, though."

Lupin was a bit of a mystery to the two girls, and they would continue to be wary around him for a time.

* * *

As upset as Harry was at being unable to go to Hogsmeade, Hermione knew it was likely for the best, especially with Sirius Black running around. She and Ron left together, promising Harry they would bring back treats for him. Ylva had left early with Ginny and a few of the fourth-year girls. Ron was still upset with her about Crookshanks' attempt to hunt Scabbers earlier in the week, but the irritated smell went away the moment they arrived in Hogsmeade. There were wonderful scents coming from every other shop; from warm, chocolatey scents to baked pastries, to full October-inspired meals. There was a joke shop, and a candy shop, and places to get quills and books. There was so much to see and do that they spent hours exploring the town.

Occasionally, Hermione would catch the familiar scents of Ylva and Ginny and grin. She was glad Ylva was making more friends than just her. There weren't other children in the pack for whatever reasons Fenrir had not explicitly spoken of. Perhaps there was more about werewolf history in the library. The next chance she got, she was going to find out about werewolf legislation.

After a day of traipsing around, and buying way more sweets than they could eat, Ron and Hermione met Ylva and Ginny in The Three Broomsticks. The four settled down over some heavenly-smelling Butterbeer and chatted vigorously about what they had seen that day.

* * *

As the month passed and the full moon drew nearer, Lupin began to smell...wrong; clammy and ill. Like something festering. It stung Hermione's nose and made her want to sit further back in his class than normal. Then he began to look even more wearied. As Hermione and Ylva grew more excitable and energetic, Lupin worsened. Until the day he was gone from class completely. In his stead was Professor Snape.

"Page 394." Snape's voice snapped as he entered Lupin's classroom with determination, his dark cloak billowing menacingly as he came to a swift stop.

Hermione did not need to look; that was the chapter on werewolves. Every bit of it was _wrong._ She had read it before classes had started, curious about what it had to say. She needn't have bothered, all she learned was more prejudiced falsehoods. Sure, the anatomy section was fairly correct, but anyone could see that. She did not protest Snape's demands, not wanting to draw attention to herself. If he wanted them to learn about werewolves, it was because he already knew about them. Her hands shaking slightly, she flipped open the book and glared at her professor. It felt strange to have her classmates discussing her kind like every other textbook monster. She clenched her jaw to keep her emotions in check; it was obvious that no-one in the classroom thought well of them. If it ever got out...Hermione knew they would call her a monster, just like the nameless people in this book.

Snape smelled triumphant, and curious. He did not glance in her direction except to decidedly ignore her hand when it went up to give the 'textbook answer'.

It was not long before she realized he was trying to unmask Lupin, not her and Ylva. For some reason, it appeared that Snape hated him. There was a bitter scent that hovered over the Slytherin Head-of-House whenever Lupin was near. The werewolf only returned it with an odor of guilt and shame.

* * *

Fenrir sniffed the chilly fall air, patiently waiting for the two girls to meet him in the forest. He did not like the dementors on the school grounds, but they were not after him or the girls. There were many memories he would rather not have re-lived. He was also not terribly concerned about the Sirius Black character. He may have been a murderer, but he wasn't one of those Death Eater's; Fenrir would have remembered his face, changed as it was.

He could not keep the smile off his face when he saw two small figures walking toward him, arm in arm. That smile immediately turned into a frown when their scents came wafting ahead of their steps. He darted toward them, his closeness confirming his suspicion that there was another werewolf about. It wasn't strong enough for him to pick up the scent of _who_ , but he knew there was someone else in the castle. He let his eyes travel over both girls, inspecting them for injuries, not realizing how still they had become. When he decided that they were indeed fine, he took a step back, though he still sported a heavy frown.

"His name is Remus Lupin, Alpha. He's our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Ylva said quietly.

Fenrir closed his eyes and nodded, attempting to keep his appearance calm. The girls were safe, and unless Lupin had made a great change, he would never know there were other werewolves running about.

"He won't hurt you," he said finally. "He likely does not even know. I know Geira has taught Ylva the dangers of Wolfsbane, but I have not told you." He turned to the curly-haired girl, whose eyes were wide with apprehension and curiosity. "And I wish I did not have to. Wolfsbane is a potion taken by those who want to pretend they're human. It dulls the senses and represses instincts."

"Lupin looks sick," she replied, beginning to understand, "He is afraid of the moon."

Fenrir nodded, "He takes Wolfsbane because he does not wish to be a wolf."

"But he can't change that, why would he wish for something than cannot be?"

Fenrir knew she knew the answer, but he admired her for asking anyway. It was unfathomable to the young werewolf. Only fourteen changes later, she had learned to love and accept who she was; and it was nearing unfathomable to her that someone could hate themselves.

"Your parents were much more understanding than Lupin's were. No wizarding parent wants their child to be a monster," he said, allowing bitterness to fill his words.

Ylva looked angry; while the younger girl shook slightly. With tears at the corners of her brown eyes, she spoke, "I am not a monster."

Fenrir quickly pulled both girls into a firm hug, "No, you aren't; neither of you are. But I know you understand that's how wizards will see you."

"I want to change that," the bushy-haired girl countered confidently.

"I hope you can, little one," Fenrir said gently, "The moon is rising, we need to move further into the forest."

* * *

The next month passed with little change; the threat of Sirius Black was always there, but he had not been seen since his attack on The Fat Lady. Harry and Ron were both quite concerned with the current Quidditch standings and spoke of it more often than anything else.

Hermione, however, was starting to feel the strain from all her extra classes and was spending her spare hours in the library. Not abnormal by itself, she had also managed to get ahold of a few texts that had tidbits on Britain's werewolf laws, but there was nothing in there she did not already know. There was nothing in these books that mentioned the rounding up that Fenrir spoke of when he was younger. He wasn't that old, so they couldn't have happened much further back than the 70's; but Hermione found nothing, not at the school library.

She resolved to delve further into the records. There had to be something about what happened to the werewolves. She looked even further back in time, but still found no trace of what the wizards had done to her kind. She remembered the pained scent that came off of Fenrir when he had recounted bits of the story to her. It was real. She knew the muggle government was not above hiding things that had happened in the past, why would the Ministry be any different?

* * *

"Miss Granger," Remus Lupin called to her after class one day.

Hermione shooed her friends on ahead, at ease with the man now that he did not seem to know anything about her. It was odd that he was pulling her aside, he had rarely taken special interest in her aside from the fact that she was bright. For some reason, his commanding tone irritated her. Her skin crawled slightly and she wanted to snap at him. All of a sudden, she wasn't a student and he wasn't a professor. She saw him for the packless wolf that he was, and as his eyes met hers she let out a snarl.

Lupin dropped his eyes, if only for a moment, then he steeled himself and gave Hermione a heavy frown. "I can help you, Hermione."

"I don't want anything from you," she said, an angry rumble in her throat. "You are afraid of your own magic. It's pathetic, and everyone who knows can see it. I do not want to be like you."

The man's scent filled with a combination of fear and pained fury. No matter how his scent changed, however, he remained calm in demeanor and tone. It was almost infuriating. "You do want to be a respected member of society, Miss Granger. I know you."

"You know nothing about me, and you know nothing about what I am."

"I knew someone once who spoke like you; he cannot even enter a town without being attacked by regular wizards. They all know who he is."

"If you are trying to scare me into taking your Wolfsbane poison, I am not interested. I am not cowed by the moon, unlike you, Omega." Hermione could smell the heat rising in his scent. It was three days until the full moon and he had chosen a bad time to pick a fight.

"Miss Granger, I expect to be spoken to in a respectful manner!"

She snarled at him once more, "I'll give you respect where it is due, Omega. Right now, this is not your classroom. I know you don't like it, but I am stronger than you."

"Get out."

Hermione could not hold in her smirk at the inference of an order that quickly turned into a plea.

She growled as she left, only truly realizing what she had done once she had left the room; bumping into Snape and his foul potion as she stormed out of the room. The scent of Lupin's Wolfsbane left her nose burning.

She said those things to her professor! She was going to be in so much trouble. She shook her head. When it had just been the two of them, she had somehow lost her human sense of order. She _knew_ Lupin was beneath her, and had acted accordingly. She still felt that way, but it was lessened now that he was not near her. It also hit her that he had always known she was a werewolf. He wanted to help her? She clenched her jaw at the thought; she meant what she said, she did not want to be like him. He thought he was a monster as much as the rest of them.

* * *

Lupin slammed a hand down onto his desk as Hermione left. He had only wanted her to trust him, and it seemed he never had a chance. She had been taught already, perhaps from the moment she had been bitten, to be distrustful of humans and other wolves. The way she snarled at him sent shivers down his spine; she was right, she was stronger than him. Being strong was not something Lupin had ever aspired to, he just wanted to be normal.

The door opened once more to admit Snape, who was carrying his Wolfsbane potion.

Remus sighed quietly, "Thank you, Severus."

"You upset Granger quite thoroughly, Remus," he said with a sneer. "She clearly wants nothing to do with...whatever it was you had to say."

"That child is a mess— " Remus eyed his collegue with suspicion. "How do _you_ know?"

"Once you've seen one wolf, it's easy to find the rest. She's more careful than you were, but she's not perfect. She never shuts up, except for in your class, about werewolves. The Headmaster assured me you had things under control, but it seems to me it is the other way around."

"What do you want, Snape?" Lupin tried not to growl out. He could feel the change in himself as the full moon drew nearer. He knew his temper was running high and he could feel himself itching to get outside. Without waiting for an answer, he took the Wolfsbane potion and downed it. It burned fiercely on the way down, but it immediately settled his inhuman urges.

"I am quite happy to watch this all play out, Remus. Tread carefully, or history will repeat itself."

"Thank you for the potion, Severus," Remus managed, now feeling much calmer. "I am under control."

"We will see."


	22. Revealing

_Wounds may heal quickly, or they may be once again torn open by the one who made them. If the former, forgiveness is given readily, for there is no reason for anger. If the latter, the anger will run deep. It will fester and boil until there is nothing left but itself. To unite, a wolfpack must let go its prejudices and its old hurts in order to remain strong._

* * *

 **Revealing**

* * *

Hermione was extra grateful for Ylva's presence once the Holidays were over. Neither Harry or Ron were speaking to her, though both for different reasons. She did not need to talk to Ylva to be comforted by the other girl; she could feel her in the castle and it calmed her. As winter turned into spring, Hermione's overload of classes was all she had time to deal with. She studied, slept, and snuck her way out of the castle with Ylva once a month.

Fenrir scolded her gently for overworking herself; she knew he was worried about her, as he often was. She knew he was right to be, but she could not bring herself to stop. She was learning so much; everywhere but Trelawney's Divination class, of course. Blowing up in that class close to finals week was not as unexpected as it should have been.

The full moon was close, and Hermione had been irritable with the rainy weather forcing her to study inside as the moon approached. She stormed out of Trelawny's tower, crying as she went. Fenrir was right, it was too much. She wasn't going to quit anything else, not until after the year was over. As she was walking, her nose stuffed and face wet, she crashed straight into a solid frame. Immediately spouting apologies, she looked up to see a concerned Remus Lupin. Not wanting to deal with him and his...whatever it was he was trying to do, she growled and moved past him. He was relentless in his persistence to help both of the young werewolves, but Hermione saw the weariness in his body that she knew she had never felt. She did not need Fenrir's warning to know that whatever Lupin was doing was not good for him.

With Divination out of the way, Hermione's schedule opened up just enough to make her feel confident for her exams. She had no problem with her tests, until she reached Defense Against the Dark Arts; she had never been so afraid before, and Lupin did not even have anything to do with it.

* * *

Hermione jumped over the stunned Hinkypunk and approached what appeared to be the final stage of the exam. At first, there was nothing but a shapeless fog writhing in the classroom, but as Hermione approached, it took a familiar form. She watched with confusion as the boggart shaped itself into the towering form of Fenrir. She was not afraid of Fenrir.

It took a step toward her with an angry snarl, looming over her by over a foot. She tried to concentrate on the scents as it approached her. It wasn't him. It was wrong."

"You aren't good enough pup," he snarled sharply, "Nothing you do matters to me. And now I'm saddled with you, forever. I should've killed you when I had the chance."

Hermione froze, tears leaking from her eyes. It wasn't him; it wasn't. The air was filled with the scent of bitter anger.

"You aren't worth my time, my help, or my pack" the thing shaped like Fenrir spat.

Before Hermione could react, it morphed into Fenrir's wolf and lunged at her. The fear from when she had first been bitten came rushing back to her and all she could do was cringe, her wand long forgotten. The bite she expected never came, but when she looked up, she would have rather had the bite. Lupin was staring angrily at the chest he had locked the boggart back up in. The angry scent was coming from him, not the boggart. She wiped the tears from her face, angry at herself for letting the boggart get to her, but she could not seem to stop crying.

"Miss Granger, you may go now," Lupin said, without turning toward her.

She picked up her things and ran out, unable to stop her tears and the fears that the boggart had brought to the surface. She could feel Fenrir's concern lightly through the pack bond, and she held onto it. The boggart was wrong, and Lupin was wrong; she was safe where she was, how she was.

* * *

Remus charged into Dumbledore's office without bothering to knock, startling the old wizard and his only companion. The latter standing abruptly in a billow of black robes. Snape turned his nose up and removed his hand from his robes, settling himself back down again as Lupin spoke.

"Albus, there is nothing I can do for that girl. Either of them," he said angrily.

He tried to calm himself as the old wizard cocked his head to the side, "What do you mean, Remus?"

"I wasn't certain before, but I know now. She's one of Fenrir's; she won't listen to a word I say. She's volatile and dangerous. There is nothing I can do."

Snape chortled a laugh at him, further fueling his frustration, "She's done nothing but treat you like a petulant little brother, Remus, and now you've run off to tattle."

"Are you suddenly on her side?" Remus snapped, knowing that Snape never liked werewolves.

"She, for one, hasn't tried to kill me," he replied with a sneer.

"Severus, that was uncalled for." Albus turned to Remus, "Do you believe she is _in_ danger?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I am certain she is in no danger. I cannot say the same for the other students."

"I understand your dislike of Fenrir, Remus, but I will not let your grudge get in the way of her education."

Remus narrowed his eyes with a growl; this was about more than the girl's education. He was more inclined to think it had something to do with his plans for Harry. There was no real reason for the suspicion, other than Remus knew the old mad meddled. He was a mastermind, and had helped them win the first war, but often at the expense of others' feelings and, sometimes, lives. If he was planning, or even had the inkling of planning something that had to do with Harry, it could go poorly for the teen. It would be better to keep his friends around, Hermione included, as it seemed was necessary.

* * *

Hermione's eyes widened as the strange parade left the whomping willow. She could feel the moon rising rapidly over the hills. Lupin was going to change; _she_ was going to change. It all happened so quickly. In a flash, Pettigrew was gone; and Lupin was groaning. Hermione managed to keep her moans inside, but she knew they wouldn't get back to the castle in time. In desperation, she took the time-turner from her neck and handed it to Harry.

She made him meet her eyes in the chaos and said, "Don't lose this, Harry."

He nodded, his eyes wide. He immediately looked more concerned than before.

Both their heads snapped to Lupin, who was writhing in agony on the ground, his pained sounds turning into roars. Hermione felt her bones shifting, she knew they only had minutes.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Ron asked, his face pale.

"I'll be fine," she grunted with a growl she could no longer hide. The pain was becoming unbearable. She could feel Fenrir getting closer. She looked at her friends, who's faces held increasing looks of horror, and gave them an encouraging smile. Or she tried to, what happened instead was the tip of the moon came over the hills and she spasmed and fell to the ground with a pained yelp. She couldn't understand the words Harry and Ron were yelling at her, but she could hear their voices become increasingly frantic.

She was still shaking slightly just a few minutes later, but she stood in front of her friends as quickly as she could, getting between them and the adult werewolf. Lupin paced back and forth, drooling and snarling at her. She snarled fiercely in return, unwilling to back down, the humans behind her were important to her, and she wasn't going to let the strange wolf hurt them. He tried to stare her down, but she did not let her gaze waver, she was stronger than him, and she knew it.

Suddenly, the large werewolf jumped at her, tackling her to the ground. She yelped when his teeth raked down her leg, but she returned in-kind, surprising the other wolf. He was clearly unused to injuries, despite his scars. Unfortunately, the was larger than her, and she was not used to fighting, he grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and shook her. She yelped in pain, but it was cut short when the pressure on her neck was suddenly released.

She spun around, only to see Fenrir chase Lupin off into the trees. Taking one look at the humans and determining that they were fine now, she darted off after the Alpha. The two fought, but it did not last long. Lupin ran off once more, and Fenrir continued the chase. She could feel her legs growing tired as she tried to keep up with them, but still she ran. Fenrir let out a pained growl when Lupin's jaw snapped at his paw.

Spurned into action, Hermione lunged for Fenrir's attacker, grabbing ahold of his leg. A screeching yelp left her when Lupin grabbed her, throwing her against a tree. She tried to bounce back, but her body hurt. She struggled to her feet and tried to leap at Lupin again, but Fenrir sent her a warning growl. She did not want to just sit and watch, so she paced, and circled, and whined as the two fought. With a shake of his head, Fenrir threw Lupin down, and he lunged for Lupin's throat and held it until he stilled.

The rest of the night, Fenrir stood over Lupin, knocking him back if he tried to get up again. Hermione could not sleep that night, every growl from Fenrir shocked her out of her dozing.

The morning came too slowly; but the moon did go down and the three changed back. Lupin took longer than the other two. He glared at Fenrir, and gave him a shove; it didn't move him, but he laughed and stepped to the side.

Hermione got up and crossed her arms at her professor. She was shivering; it was a cold morning. Fenrir jogged off without a word and came back a few minutes later with their clothes. He handed Hermione hers and threw Lupin's at him with a smirk.

Lupin glared at Hermione. "He's ruined you," he growled, "He bit you too, didn't he? Just like he bit me!" He lunged once again for Hermione, but Fenrir stepped between them.

"You'd best settle down, pup," Fenrir warned.

Hermione rubbed her arms, her shivering now having nothing to do with the cold. Despite the composure she was used to from him, she could not mistake the scent of guilt that wafted off Fenrir the moment Lupin suggested he had bitten her. Since the boggart earlier that week, Hermione had been afraid it had been Fenrir. She had tried to forget, but she couldn't; everything seemed to be confirming her fears. However, as she stood in the brisk spring air staring at her Alpha, she decided that it did not matter. He had helped her, protected her, and protected her friends. The boggart was a lie.

She stepped forward, her magic crackling slightly in the building fury in the outsider who questioned her. "Maybe he did bite me. He has not _ruined_ me; I am _not_ a monster. I feel more me than ever."

The guilty smell from Fenrir was still there, but it was now mingled with surprise, relief, and growing pride. He smirked at Lupin and stepped back, letting Hermione move forward.

"I trust him. He's never hurt me," she turned to him and saw the flash of pain in his eyes, "on purpose; and he'll never let anything happen to me! Which is more than I can say for you."

Lupin gaped at her, and his jaw worked like he was trying to find the words to respond.

"Best move on, Remus. Your Dumbledore will want a report, I'm sure," Fenrir said with an air of restraint.

Lupin glared at him, but could not argue with the dismissal, he turned with a quiet snarl and left.

Fenrir turned to Hermione once he was out of sight, his jaw tight.

"Why did you bite me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Fenrir hesitated. "Would it matter, pup?"

She looked up at him, she still trusted him, but she wanted to know why. "No, I—"

"Then why ask?"

The boggart came rushing back to her and the tears came pouring down her cheeks.

* * *

Fenrir wiped away a stray tear and waited for her; he hated the sound of her crying, but he knew this was his own fault. She had to find out some day.

Finally, she managed, "Did you want me, or was I just an accident?"

He pulled her tightly into his arms, finally understanding her fears. Her scent roiled with anxiety as she stared at her own feet.

"Both, little one," he admitted. "I've never lost control like that before, and I don't think I ever will again. I tried to get away."

"But I'm not special...I don't fit in anywhere. I'm part of three worlds, but I'm never in any for long enough to call any home…" she said.

Fenrir growled in disagreement, "I know it feels like that now, but no matter what happens, you will always be at home with us. You are a wolf, pup, and I won't let you go alone. You will always have help from me, if you want it."

"I'm not a burden?"

"Of course not!" Fenrir snarled, "has Lupin been putting all these ideas in your head‽ I'm going to eat that—"

"No! No, Alpha. I— I'm just afraid. There was a boggart, and I—" she rubbed her eyes again, obviously reluctant to talk about it.

A boggart? Was her biggest fear truly his rejection? He gently smoothed her hair down. "You are not a burden, and you never have been. The pack needs you, and I do too. I do feel guilty about losing control and taking the choice to change away from you, but I don't regret it for a second." He pulled her chin up to meet her eyes and gave her a genuine smile.

She nodded, and slowly returned the smile. Relief flooded her scent in a way he hadn't smelled all night. All too soon, however, her anxiety returned.

"I'm going to have to go back in there," she said, looking toward the castle. "My friends know now."

He gave her a wry grin, "You could always bite them."

She tried to frown at him, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"Remember what I said, little one. You will always have a place with us," he said seriously. He looked at her worried face and debated with himself for a moment. He rubbed his neck, at the numbers stamped into his skin from long ago. There were times he forgot they were there, he had glamored them away so long ago; but then there were moments like this that he remembered the pain, and cage after cage after cage. He wanted to protect her, but he did not want to frighten her, either. Those days were long passed; she trusted him, and would not become another Remus Lupin.

"If you need me, I will be here," he said finally.

She smiled at him and nodded.

"Dumbledore likely knows, but keep it as quiet as possible."

"I hate that we have to hide," she mumbled with a nod. "There are so many secrets, and lies and misjudgements in the world already...it's just another one to add."

Fenrir nodded, "One day, it will be better. It's already better than before."

Hermione glanced up at him with wide eyes. "When they took the alphas?"

He pulled out his wand to remove the glamor on his neck and knelt so she could see it.

She gasped. "Sirius had one of those, from Azkaban."

Fenrir recast the charm and looked her in the eyes. "Mine is from the cages they kept us in. They needed to keep track of us and apparently couldn't tell us apart," he growled. "I was not much older than you when they stamped it on, and I will not let them do the same to you."

Fenrir raised his head at the sound of faint footsteps and noticed Ylva coming out of the forest. He gave her a small smile. "Go, and don't be afraid. You have a place."

"Goodbye, Alpha," Hermione gave him a quick hug and left to join Ylva as they head back into the castle.


	23. Restraint

_There are few things a wolf hates more than pretending. Being open is not only important to the pack, but allows each individual to get what they need. Humans are not so simple; they have machinations and plans and are free of the same ties to packs, mates, and forced loyalties. With senses beyond those of a human, a wolf can easily detect lies and dangers, but can do little to change what humans believe about the same items, as it may reveal them for what they are, and frighten away those who would call them friends._

* * *

 **Restraint**

* * *

Hermione took a deep, shaky breath as grasped the handle of the door to the hospital wing. She did not know what to expect from her friends; as much as they had agreed with her about defending Lupin, she had lied to them for far longer and was much closer to them than their Professor ever was. She exhaled slowly, opened the door, and slipped inside.

She was nearly tackled by Harry, who drew back almost immediately.

"Hermione! You're okay!" He exclaimed, a big grin on his face. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I?"

She smiled and shook her head, "I'm fine, I'm not really hurt at all." She looked at Harry, and glanced at Ron, who smiled at her from his bed. Did they really not care at all?

"We were so worried! I don't know how much you saw, but Pettigrew got away," Harry recapped glumly, "Sirius is in hiding now. With Buckbeak. I wish we could've cleared his name. I was so close to…" he trailed off for a moment and Hermione understood without needing the scent of bitterness that rolled off him. "I almost had a family," he finished quietly.

Ron began regaling the story of the previous night as though she had not been there, and she tuned him out as she surveyed Harry's crestfallen face.

Hermione understood Harry's need to belong somewhere. She had felt that way much of her life, but now that her friends knew...

"What?" she interrupted Ron, not certain that she heard him correctly.

"I said that Sirius chased Lupin off into the woods. It was too bad you were unconscious for it, it was really scary. Well, maybe it was actually a good thing."

She stared at him with wide eyes. Unconscious? She swallowed, trying to figure out why there seemed to be a difference in their story.

"Are you sure you're alright, Hermione? You look a little pale."

"I— I don't remember much, I must have hit my head." Her voice shook and her heart sunk as the words left her mouth. They didn't know. It should not have bothered her as much as it had; after all, nothing had truly changed. Except that now she knew that someone was deliberately changing her friend's memories. Someone knew now, someone powerful enough to alter Harry and Ron's memories. She and Ylva were in more danger now; she was not afraid, as she perhaps should have been. She was angry.

Hermione stayed with Harry and Ron until Madame Pomfrey gently but firmly shooed her away so the boys could rest. As she stepped away, her anger returned and she stomped out of the Hospital Wing fuming slightly. No one had the right to take away their memories. She stalked down the hall, past the entrance doors.

"Miss Granger, if you keep growling like that, your secret will not stay a secret for long."

She spun at the sound of Snape's voice behind her, her throat tight. "I was not growling," she insisted with a snarl. "Was it you?"

To her surprise, he shook his head calmly, unfazed at her demeanor.

"Why should I bother to hide if Dumbledore is just going to obliviate everyone anyway‽" she said, knowing it was a foolish question.

"Use your brain, girl. I know you have one somewhere behind that impetuous attitude of yours. The last students who ran around this school with a werewolf became animagi illegally and almost killed a fellow student. Your friends get into enough trouble."

She was slightly taken aback at how calm he was. For a brief moment, it was almost as though he had forgotten she was an irritating Gryffindor. He smelled...odd. His expression carried the same sneer that it ever did, but he smelled of pity.

"Do not pity me for what I am," she snarled.

He tensed and the smell left. "You know nothing, foolish child. Get out of my sight," he spat in a tone she was much more familiar with.

She did not need to be told even once; she had not wanted to be there in the first place.

* * *

Fenrir had been paying close attention to the girl's mood since she left the forest. He had feared the worst when she plunged into sadness stayed there, straying occasionally into bouts of anger. He was not going to leave until both of the girls were safe. He snapped his head toward the castle and had taken a few steps when her anger flared up once more and he felt her getting closer. She was only angry, not panicked or fearful, and so he stayed, and waited.

He did not speak when she finally approached him, smelling of salty tears and disappointment.

Her lip trembled slightly and she took a few moments to breath before she spoke.

"They don't know," she said, unable to keep the tears away once she opened her mouth. "He erased their memories!"

Fenrir kept his angry, though unsurprised growl inside; she was hurt enough already. It may have been true that they were all safer this way, but taking anyone's choice away made him angry. He pulled the upset girl into a solid hug; there was nothing he could say to make her feel better about what happened.

"It's so unfair." She sniffled, "You've been trying to tell me that."

"I hoped you would not have to learn it," he returned quietly. "Werewolves are messy, and get in the way. Dumbledore has some sort of scheme, otherwise you wouldn't be getting in his way, pup."

She frowned, her tears drying up as the gears in her brilliant mind worked, "A plan for Harry?"

"I can only assume."

A soft growl was the only reply he received, and he was tempted once again to join her.

"It's better this way, anyway," she said quietly, her voice tight, "We'll be safer this way, right?"

Fenrir nodded grudgingly.

"Nothing has really changed, I suppose," she continued.

"Your anger is more than reasonable, little one. And as much as I hate to admit it, being friends with the Potter boy might go a long way toward being able to change the future for us. If it doesn't; home is safe regardless."

It has always baffled Fenrir how leaving Scandinavia suddenly changed people's ideals so radically, but perhaps the world was just closing in. They were more secretive in their home country than they were when he was younger. Perhaps one day witches and wizards would stop believing everything they heard from fairy tales without prompting, but he doubted it. Something drastic would have to happen to change anything for the better.

* * *

Summer flew by for Hermione; she had a lovely vacation with her parents. They had gone to Spain on holiday and it had been gloriously warm; and the food was just to die for. Of course, after such an adventure, she was ready for the coolness of the English summer and the familiarity of her books. She had a few weeks to just that before she left for the final adventure of the summer.

Ron had invited both Hermione and Ylva to come to the Burrow for the last few weeks of summer, and to see the Quidditch World Cup with his family. Neither girl was particularly interested in the sport, but they were both thrilled to spend more time with their friends. After the full moon had passed, they joined the festivities at the Burrow.

* * *

The moment Ylva and Hermione arrived, Ylva was tense. Hermione noticed that her normally outgoing, bubbly friend was quiet. Her eyes were animated and searching. It was similar to the way she had gone into high-gear when she had first met the Weasleys, but she was better now at hiding her wolfish tendencies when others were around. Hermione resolved to speak to her later, as she was quickly swept away by Ron's excitement at showing her the house.

* * *

Ylva followed behind, trying to track the scent she was looking for. They all criss-crossed over each other so much, it was hard to tell them apart, even for her. There _was_ something different in the scents here; something that sparked a hope that she could not quite place.

She finally got her wits together enough to really look around at her first magical British home. It was so different than the cottage she shared with her Father; it was busy and buzzing with active household magics. She supposed that having so many children to care for was much easier when you did not do everything by hand. Geira always emphasized physical labor was to be used alongside magic. It made one strong in more than one aspect. Everything fascinated her, from the self-washing dishes to the knitting doing itself while Mrs. Weasley flew about the kitchen fixing dinner. She gave Ylva a quick smile and continued her preparation. Ylva continued to wander the house; she found the stairs and recalled that Ginny had said her room was up on the first floor. She continued to wander until she caught the scent of her friend. A door down a few steps was open; light beams streaming through in a way that reminded Ylva of a morning on the fjords. She smiled and walked into the room. It seemed Ginny was out, and Ylva did not want to snoop, but she was curious. She walked across the small, cheerful room to the window, which looked out over the orchard. She breathed in the wind from the land and sighed happily. She sat happily in the window for a time, merely listening to the sounds of the house and the garden. George waved to her, a gnome in his hand before he tossed it over the garden wall. She waved back, smiling at the oddity of it all.

After a time, she heard Mrs. Weasley's voice calling. "Oh good! They're back! Ronald! Come and help your Father and your brothers!"

Curious as ever, Ylva quickly made her way outside to see what exactly was happening. She saw Ginny's form coming up the drive, carrying a bag, and trailing behind her were three red-headed men, also burdened with various suitcases.

"Ylva, dear, would you mind helping them out with their baggage? I don't know what's become of Ronald and Hermione; or Fred and George."

"Of course. I'd be happy to help," Ylva responded cheerfully. "They're in the garden...throwing gnomes?" she offered, still not sure why they were throwing the creatures or why the gnomes liked the garden enough to put up with being thrown. As she finished speaking, she walked toward her friend and the part of the family she had not yet met.

Ginny smiled at her; "Would you grab Bill's bag? For some reason, he has way more luggage than Charlie."

Ylva nodded, not actually knowing which one was Bill, but she assumed he was the one carrying the most. She walked up to the three men and froze. The scent she had gotten small hints of every time she had been around the Weasley's filled her nose. In that moment, the young werewolf finally knew what it meant. Mate.

She blinked when Bill handed her his smaller bag and she took it, still dazed, unable to look away from him. He had bright, laughing blue eyes and long red hair tied back in a ponytail. A smile spread over her face as she started to regain her wits.

"I'm Ylva," she said.

"Bill," he replied, returning a friendly smile.

"I'm Charlie," the next Weasley over said.

"Ah! Ylva, excellent to meet you! Arthur Weasley at your service."

The girl grinned and walked alongside them toward the house. She breathed deeply, filling her nose with Bill's scent until she could smell almost nothing else. Magic flowed around him; he was strong and brave, and the look in his eye reminded her of Fred and George. She was positive she would like him even if his particular scent had not run straight to her heart; piercing her so thoroughly that she knew that no one else would do. No matter how long she had to wait; and that could be a long time.


End file.
